


Between The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea

by Rangetsu_Heron



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rating May Change, Romantic Angst, Slow Burn, This thing is gonna be long, seriously a SLOW BURN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 74,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27399169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rangetsu_Heron/pseuds/Rangetsu_Heron
Summary: Eizen wants Rokurou to go all-out. He gets more than he bargained for.When one person has too much feeling in their heart, and another doesn’t have any at all, the path ahead will never be smooth - especially not for a daemon and a malak who’ve gotten entangled in a revenge mission against the Empire’s most powerful man. Sometimes, the hardest battles are found within yourself.
Relationships: Eizen/Rokurou Rangetsu
Comments: 29
Kudos: 36





	1. Weathering the Storm

“First Mate!”

Benwick’s curly head peeped around the doorframe to the captain’s ready room on the _Van Eltia_ and startled Eizen out of a sleep which had been too fleeting, yet too deep for his liking. 

He sat up with a jolt, limbs collecting themselves back from where they’d sprawled across the red threadbare chaise, as if even they knew that he didn’t belong here in this room - not yet. Not until the captain was found, dead or alive. And that was why his dreams had been too encompassing for his tastes; they’d been the same dreams he’d had for the past year, since Aifread had disappeared. Hazy images overlaid with an overwhelming sense that Aifread needed them - needed rescuing - and that the responsibility for it lay squarely on Eizen’s shoulders. It wasn’t something he’d ever shy away from, but that didn’t stop it from being an enormous pressure on him. Life had seemed to be in shades of black and white since the disappearance; the world leeched of colour, with only a forgotten pendulum to show for the man who’d shown Eizen a better way to live. 

Eizen pinched the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand, surreptitiously moving a few strands of blond hair that had become stuck to the side of his face. Was it really time for him to take over at the wheel again already? 

“What is it, Benwick?” His voice always sounded rough and gruff; it currently had a distinct hint of gravel.

“Sir, we’ve spotted the ship we were informed about, heading in the direction of Vortigern. From what we can see through the spyglass, it’s very lightly crewed. Maybe only five people aboard.”

That got Eizen’s attention immediately; any last vestiges of sleep were shaken from his mind, like a sail snapping in a fresh breeze. “Have they spotted us?”

“No, sir; this fog is thick. They’re continuing course.”

“Then they’re either fools, or exactly the sort of people we need.” Eizen stood, locking eyes with Benwick, who gave him a grin and a nod in return. The crew were quickly recovering from the shock of losing some of their number during the last attempt to get through Vortigern’s vast sea gate. They were good men; Aifread had trained them well.

As Eizen made his way out of the room and up a wooden staircase which rolled and creaked with the waves, he mused that Aifread had trained him well, too. Back before the Advent, the event which had revealed malakhim like Eizen to the eyes of ordinary humans, he’d skulked around this ship like a ghost, just waiting for the unsuspecting crew to head to the far continent. All that time spent alone, hoping that he would be able to find something there that would break his curse - and he’d brought the crew nothing but misfortune instead. Including having their ship boarded and stolen by pirates.

And now he was about to do the same to another unsuspecting ship. Aifread really had trained him well.

Emerging into the open air, Eizen was immediately met by the familiar, comforting salt-scent of the deep sea, and a thick fog which made even the crow’s nest of the _Van Eltia_ difficult to see. No wonder this group they were following, presumably inexperienced in the ways of the seas, hadn’t noticed the pirate ship waiting for them. His informant on the docks at Hellawes had sent him a sylphjay with all the sordid details of this little crew, and Eizen almost looked forward to seeing if they lived up to their reputation.

After all, “two daemons and a pink thing fought the exorcist Teresa, stole one of her malakhim, torched Hellawes, and escaped on a ship being steered by a tailless lizard” was an intriguing message for anyone.

Dealing with daemons made him apprehensive. They were the natural enemies of malakhim like him.When he’d fought daemons before, he’d been able to feel the malevolence they gave off - like the heat of a fire prickling against his skin and threatening to corrupt his very essence. They tended to be mindless, feral, and highly dangerous.

Not that it mattered. This little group of daemons was merely the potential method by which he was going to get through Vortigern’s sea gates, and he’d be in their company for as little time as possible.If he was feeling extra-nice, he might even consider not abandoning them to their fates in a fortress full of soldiers and exorcists afterward.

The fog bleached the world of colour, turning everything into a shade of dismal grey, but Eizen barely noticed - he was used to it these days. That was why it was so important to make it through to Loegres and see if the dockmaster there had heard anything about Aifread - his last message had implied that he had a lead, and the crew of the _Van Eltia_ were desperate for even the smallest crumb of information. Maybe that would put some colour back into Eizen’s life.

“They’re straight ahead.” Benwick passed him a spyglass. “They’ve no idea what’s right in front of them; the fog’s hiding the fortress from view.”

Eizen held the spyglass to his eye, scanning until he caught the ghostly outline of a ship moving through the waves, blissfully unaware that it was headed towards the doom of a high-security fortress,filled with exorcists who were trained in the art of killing daemons. He could just about make out shadowy figures on deck, a couple more up by the wheel… and that really did look like the outline of a lizard. _Well, damn._

“Open fire on them, and don’t hold back.” He fingered the familiar, smooth shape of the coin in his pocket. There wasn’t any need to flip it. “The ship’s not worth looting, and if they’re desperate enough to steal a malak from an exorcist and set fire to one of the Empire’s major cities, I think they’ll be up for fighting on land.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Benwick said with a wide grin before rushing off, and Eizen wished that his mood could be lifted as easily as his human crew’s. All it took for them was the promise of hope, and a firing cannon.

And fire they did, with a whoosh which caused even Eizen’s long black leather coat to ripple in the wake of the cannonballs. Watching through the spyglass, he saw that they were scoring direct hits on the daemons’ ship, causing the figures to run agitatedly like a nest of ants which had been poked with a stick. Even better, it almost immediately changed course, and headed for land. The _Van Eltia_ followed, gliding through the waters at a much greater speed than the ship ahead of them. So much so that their target’s tiny crew barely had time to spill out onto firm ground before the _Van Eltia_ did the same, Benwick leading the charge to surround them and hold them at bay with their swords.

As he always did in this kind of situation, Eizen held back, standing at the top of the gangplank. Partly because his crew had less chance of something going wrong if he wasn’t taking part, but mostly because he wanted to judge what he’d be fighting against. There wasn’t any other way to see if they’d be fit for his purpose, and if he could steal an advantage by observing them for a few minutes then he’d take it. Stealing was what he did best, after all.

A group of five stood ready for battle, and he could feel the desperation almost as strongly as the malevolence. Though the latter only came from three of them; he was surprised to note that the woman in some kind of bizarre pink magician’s outfit wasn’t a daemon - presumably human. He was also interested to note the kidnapped malak, which stood slightly in front of them as if he were subconsciously being used as a shield. The malak looked to be a small child, wearing the pure white robes of the Abbey and an expression which was totally blank. Eizen found it unsettling, to say the least.

He discounted the lizard. He was already moving backward as if he had no appetite for a battle, and Eizen surmised that he wouldn’t be taking any part in any test of mettle. The woman in pink was also hanging back, though more from a bored indifference than from any fear. So that just left the other two daemons, one male, and one female.

The male caught his attention first, partly because he was looking fiercely at Benwick and telling him that he must have a death wish, and partly because he was wearing an exotic outfit that Eizen had rarely seen the likes of except on a very brief stop in a far-off land back before the Advent. A golden skin tone contrasted with ink-black shaggy hair which was tied back into a ponytail, though the right side of his face was completely obscured by bangs which fell across his face. That in itself was interesting; Eizen would usually expect to see some hint of the golden skin peeking through, but he could see nothing but blackness, in addition to an obsidian flame-like marking which danced down the man’s neck and collarbone. This one was definitely up for a fight: Eizen could clearly see the huge greatsword - a foreign design by the looks of it- strapped to his back, as well as twin daggers at his sides. He’d have to watch out for the reach on that greatsword; the disadvantage of fighting with his fists.

The woman was clearly the leader of the group, and her outfit was eye-catching for completely different reasons.It appeared to have been cobbled together from scraps, torn material, belts, and didn’t leave much to the imagination in some areas. Like the male daemon and the pink magician, she looked as though she hadn’t had access to a haircut for some years; the plait of black hair trailing down her back reached almost to the floor. Her expression was almost as blank as that of the malak boy, but she was very much switched on. Eizen could sense her watchful glare, taking in everything that was going on around them, as well as a pent-up aggression which was begging to be released. She didn’t have any weapons visible, but held a bandaged arm slightly in front of her. She looked far from injured, however.

Neither of these two daemons were what he had expected. The daemonblight - as the humans liked to call it, unaware of what really caused the descent into daemonhood - almost always caused a great physical transformation, such as the one the lizard had clearly gone through. Werewolves were common, though Eizen had seen all manner of beasts. But these two could’ve easily passed as human; if he hadn’t been able to sense malevolence on them, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish them from the humans they’d previously been. Clearly neither of them was mindless, either.

This just kept getting more interesting.

When the woman gave an order for the malak boy to wipe out the pirates surrounding them, Eizen decided it was time to step in. Enough analysis; now he’d be able to see if they really would be what he needed.

As he strode down the gangplank, his heavy boots making the wood tremble, he heard Benwick protesting.

“Whoa there! We’re not the one you’ll be fighting.”

Eizen walked up behind his loyal crewmember, passing him so he stood in full view of the daemon group. Their faces barely changed, except for the female daemon’s glare deepening. 

“It’ll be me.”

Eizen’s eyes flicked to the male daemon and saw that he had a sudden gleam in his eye and a grin spreading across his face - which almost distracted him from the malak’s attack, a stream of energy bursting from the child’s hands in a flurry of paper. Eizen just had time to throw up an arte of his own, using the earth mana which flowed around his body to cause rock to shoot up from the ground, blocking the shot. Maybe his curse was having a slow day.

The dark-haired woman’s eyes narrowed, just as her companion’s grin got even wider. “A malak?” 

_Damn. There goes my advantage. Curse is working as standard._

“No, I’m the Reaper.” And Eizen threw himself into battle.

He quickly wondered if he’d bitten off slightly more than he could chew. The male daemon was on him faster than he would have believed possible, with the woman not far behind him. But even as he fended them off with his fists, he could tell that both of them had a bit of rust dogging their movements, as if they hadn’t had the opportunity to fight for a long time. Between that, and the long unkempt hair that both of them had, he was starting to get a suspicion. 

The boy continued to silently fire malak artes at him; Eizen couldn’t quite bring himself to face the thought of punching the kid in the face, so he concentrated on fighting the two daemons instead. 

“Who is this guy?” the woman shouted angrily, swinging a sword which had apparently appeared out of nowhere at his head. Eizen dodged it, aiming a punch and landing it just by her shoulder, which only served to make her angrier. She was full of emotion and rage - potentially a weak spot, but something which seemed to fuel her rather than distract. She aimed a kick at him, and Eizen realised that she even had a blade hidden in the toe of her boot.

“A malak pirate?” The male daemon swung in, excitement reverberating in his voice, slashing across Eizen’s chest with twin daggers and darting out of the way before Eizen could land a return hit. He was a surprise: Eizen had fully expected the greatsword, which was almost as tall as the daemon himself, to be called into action - but he showed no sign of attempting to draw it. He had absolutely no fear of Eizen, something the pirate wasn’t used to, and his martial arte style flowed in a way which was unfamiliar, but incredibly graceful. He looked young, but his focus in battle was absolute - something else that Eizen found surprising.

His style was to dart in for a flurry of attacks with his daggers, twisting and dodging away again before he could be caught: frustrating for a pirate who preferred to fight with his fists. Eizen managed to land a punch in the small of his back as he attempted to skirt away; it staggered him, causing a momentary falter, before he whirled around with a snarl on his face and a rising fury in the amber eye on the left, the right side still hidden by those bangs of black hair. 

Interestingly, it didn’t cause him to rush in a fit of temper, which was unusual for a daemon. In Eizen’s experience, daemons who were wounded, or generally pissed off, tended to lose control and attack in a frenzy. That was the kind of discipline Eizen had been hoping for, and he realised that this motley trio really could be his key to getting through Vortigern.

“A sword, twin blades, and paper… no pendulum that I can see.” He only noticed that he’d spoken aloud when the woman rushed in for another attack… and he suddenly saw that the bandages were gone, replaced by an arm that was completely daemon, born of extreme malevolence. It was clawed like something from a nightmare, blood red, and it was coming straight for him.

This was enough; no way did he want that hand touching him, even for a moment. Eizen called on his mana one more time, causing the ground beneath the trio’s feet to rumble and rise up, throwing all of them backward in a cloud of dirt and grit. By the time they’d sprung to their feet, eager to carry on, Eizen had his hands raised.

“You pass the test. Join us.”

***

Rokurou didn’t like it when battles didn’t come to their natural conclusion. 

And a natural conclusion, in his opinion, was him standing over a twitching corpse with plenty of blood spurting around and staining the grass... but maybe other people didn’t feel that way. He could already feel his bloodlust, which had been building up nicely, draining away in an instant.

_Aw man, I probably won’t get to kill him now._

Didn’t stop him from visualising it though, especially with the malak and his bunch of pirates standing right in front of him. He kept his daggers raised just in case; Velvet was just to his left, and if she decided to resume the attack, he was honour-bound to follow.

But, there was something about this malak which was pinging his insatiable curiosity anyway. Rokurou had grown up around powerful, dangerous people who were trying to kill him - most of them being his immediate family - and he had no doubts that this pirate captain was as treacherous as any of them. But, at the same time, there was something about him that Rokurou liked. For instance, the way the guy stood: knees bent, hips thrust slightly forward, and fists relaxed as if to say _“I’m unguarded; try and give it your best shot.”_ It was a challenge, and the gods knew that Rokurou liked a challenge.

He had a look which suggested that he didn’t take any shit, too. He might’ve been a malak, a creature similar to the so-called Number Two - the angelic-looking boy they’d kidnapped in Hellawes seemingly for the hell of it - but his blond hair was roughly cut so that it just about grazed his neck. And his eyes: Rokurou was pretty certain that in his entire life, he’d never seen a being with eyes that blue. When the malak frowned, which seemed to be pretty often, there was something almost reptilian about them.

More than that, though, was that the pirate was brimming with repressed emotion. Since Rokurou had undergone the incredibly painful transformation from a human to a daemon, in the glamorous location of the floor of a squalid prison cell on Titania Island, he’d been incredibly good at sensing other people’s emotions. It had driven him to the brink of madness during his stay in prison, but now he found it pretty useful. He could sense it, hearing it in people’s voices even if they weren’t even aware of it themselves. And if anything, this malak was _depressed._ There was a deep sadness, mixed with quite a lot of anger and a constant, arrogant belief that he knew best. That was quite the combination, and Rokurou couldn’t resist wanting to know why it would be so.

Then again, his mother had always scolded him for being curious about anything that wasn’t a sword, and sent him to clean the toilets as a punishment. He’d had days in his childhood where he’d held a toilet brush for longer than he had a sword (A grave dishonour for a member of the Rangetsu clan. Shigure had mockingly called his martial artes “Lavatory Style” - the bastard).

“Well, aren’t you the impudent one.” That was Velvet, off to Rokurou’s side. Her voice was calmer, the ever-present rage dimmed a notch or two. Rokurou took that as a cue, and sheathed his daggers at his back again. Fun time was over.

“Says the daemon who torched Hellawes.” A flat statement fell from the pirate’s lips. Rokurou had hit rock-bottom a few times in his human life; he hoped he’d managed to hide it better than this guy.

“You knew about that?”

“I hope you realise we’re doing you a favour. If you’d stayed on that course, you would’ve smashed right up against the Gate of Vortigern.” Ahh, there was that arrogance again.

“You’re headed for Midgand, aren’t you?” The pirate who had spoken to them initially piped up, and Rokurou noticed for the first time that there was a grumpy-looking bird nesting in the brim of his hat. “That means you’re gonna have to go through the narrows up ahead. But the kingdom has a massive fortress there built to defend them… with a tremendous gate.”

“A fortress…” That seemed to perturb Velvet, and Rokurou instantly understood: their ragtag ship would’ve been a sitting duck once the fortress lookouts had spotted it was being steered by a lizard daemon. They would’ve been snuffed out in an instant. Rokurou couldn’t have that, not when he still had business to attend to.

“If this is true, we’re in your debt.” He spoke up himself, well aware that Velvet would be shooting a glare at him. _But she does that all the time, so it doesn’t really count, right?_

The malak folded his arms. “We desire to pass through as well, but we lack the strength. I propose we form a partnership.”

“I’d be a fool to blindly trust the word of a pirate,” Velvet retorted.

“Do you really want to see the gate for yourself? We won’t stop you. We’ll even throw you a nice funeral, if you like.” And then Rokurou tensed as the malak walked towards them - and strode straight through them, as if expecting them to fall in line.

“So, what? We’re allowed to refuse?” That was Magilou. He was so used to seeing her lounging around in that pink outfit of hers, not giving the slightest damn, that he almost forgot that she had a voice. Until she started talking, and didn’t stop, that was. 

“Your business is your business, and ours is ours. There’s nothing more to say.”

_Can this guy get any more edgy?_ Rokurou wondered; the pirate was already ordering his subordinate not to follow him, but to go back to their ship, before he was hoisting himself up some vines towards a cave entrance with some impressive athleticism. The malak was asking them to place a lot of trust in him, given that he’d just run them aground and attacked them. And with that gamut of hidden emotions bubbling under his surface, Rokurou didn’t trust him one bit. 

The group all eyed each other, except for Number Two, who was as checked out as ever. Rokurou could sympathise, to an extent; he wasn’t a stranger to possessing a bit of inner calm… until something riled him up, of course. But the boy was practically catatonic.

Surprisingly, it was Dyle who spoke up first, the lizard daemon’s eyes darting around in what Rokurou amusedly recognised as fear. “I know you probably won’t listen to me, but you shouldn’t get involved with Aifread’s pirates. Rumour has it that he’s an unrepentant troublemaker and is as strong as an ogre! His gang are all fearless, wild rogues. They’ve turned the tables on the Royal Navy time and time again! And best of all is their ship, the _Van Eltia!_ She’s a legend that traveled to distant lands across the sea!”

“Nice. Sounds like I’d get along with them just fine.” Rokurou couldn’t resist. Plus, in his mind, pirates equaled looting, and looting equaled fighting. He had to wonder how good any of this pirate crew, who were all still staring at them with swords bared, were in a proper battle.

He needed more practise. That blow to his back in the fight with the malak had irritated him; he hadn’t moved fast enough. Next time, it could be the point of a greatsword instead of a fist. He had to be better than this; much better.

Velvet wasn’t taking any notice of either him or Dyle, as usual. “The pirates share our goal. I don’t think we have any choice but to band together.”

“True enough!” Magilou interjected with a flourish. “If forward lies destruction, and backward lies doom, sideways is your only option!”

“And yet you don’t feel like helping out.”

“I sure don’t!” 

“That malak isn’t all he seems,” Rokurou put in. No need to go into details - hell, Velvet was a daemon too; maybe she could pick up on other people’s emotions too. Or maybe it was just him. He didn’t much care either way. “Who knows what’s up his sleeves?”

Magilou got that look on her face; the one that reminded him of Shigure offering his youngest brother an almond cake, only to snatch it away at the last second and eat it. “The kid’s a malak, too. Hey boy, you sense anything?”

Number Two said nothing. He clearly heard the words, and took them in, but gave Magilou a look as if he couldn’t possibly answer.

Velvet sighed. “We both have ulterior motives. In any case, let’s go after him.”

“Okay bye, have fun!” Magilou sat on the grass and stretched herself out for a sunning even as Rokurou turned and started heading toward the vines; he could hear Dyle grumbling about how she should try to be civil every now and then. It was good of him to try.

Velvet wrapped a vine around her bandaged hand, and swung herself up into a climb, fist over fist. Rokurou glanced down at the malak, who was watching her nervously, the little golden cowlick of hair on the top of his head bobbing with anxiety.

“Hey kid, you think you can climb that? Or do you want to ride on my back?” He already carried the weight of his copy of Stormhowl everywhere he went; giving a malak child a piggyback wasn’t going to add that much more.

Number Two looked at him with green eyes the size of dinner plates, and nodded soundlessly. When they eventually reached the top, Velvet was already looking impatient.

“Come on, you two. He’s not going to wait for us.”

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.” _Damn, I think she’d whip us all the way to Loegres if she could._ “I think he needs us just as much as we need him. Hell, we’ve got no guarantee that he’s going to do as he says, anyway.”

“If he’s no use to us, I’ll eat him.”

_Ohhh yeaaah, the horror hand. How could I forget._ He’d lost count of how many times he’d been sitting in his prison cell, doing nothing but listening, and hearing snippets of conversation amongst the guards. Conversation which told of the daemon in the maximum security cell; the daemon that ate other daemons. He’d seen the guards take other daemons from their cells, never bringing them back, and wondered what would happen if they came for him one day.

It had never become an issue. They hadn't really liked to open his cell door, especially since that time he’d ripped two daemons apart with his bare hands.

It didn’t stop him from wondering what would happen if he ever stopped being useful to Velvet, though.

The caves were dark, with walls coated in a greasy sheen that would’ve made anyone less than a daemon turned their nose up in disgust. Good thing that it was mostly daemons who seemed to reside here: insect daemons who skittered around in the shadows and clung to the cavern roof. Rokurou was quite happy to slaughter them as they passed through; practise was practise, after all.

When they caught up with the pirate malak, he was dispatching a scorpion daemon, and Rokurou’s only thought was _I could’ve had that._

Frosty blue eyes turned on them, primarily on Velvet. “So, you’ve chosen to trust a pirate?”

“Not for a second.” Rokurou wouldn’t have expected anything less from her; every guarded word Velvet spoke practically shone with trust issues. “But if you’re prepared to lend us the use of your ship and crew until we reach the capital, we’ll help you.”

The malak stared right at them, pausing for a moment to think it over, and Rokurou noticed what incredibly fair skin he had. Unusual for a sailor, he would’ve thought.

“... I’ll agree to those terms. But there’s something I should tell you first.”

The malak’s hand reached into his pocket, and took something out. In one practised move, he flicked a golden coin vertically up into the air, the disc going end over end, before snatching it back into his fist. It was clearly something he’d done many, many times to be that precise about it.

“I bring ill fortune to all those around me. The “Reaper’s Curse”. I could flip this coin a thousand times and still land on tails.” A flicker of that emotion suddenly passed across his face, and Rokurou could hear it in his voice as clearly as if he had shouted it. “Trying to get through the fort cost the lives of five good sailors. If you join up with me, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

_Well, sucks to be you_ , Rokurou thought. 

If Velvet had any second thoughts, she wasn’t showing it, still gazing at the malak with that indifferent expression she’d perfected. “Why would you go out of your way to warn us?”

“Even daemons don’t want to meet an unfair death, right?” In an almost tired-looking manner, he tossed the coin to Velvet; she caught it one-handed. “If you still want to come with me, just know the risks.”

_Risks schmisks. How many daemons will we get to fight with a cursed malak around?_ The very thought of it was enough to get Rokurou’s blood pumping a little faster.

Velvet seemed to agree, throwing the coin back for the malak to snatch out of the air. “Works for me. I land on tails, I’ll flip it to heads on my own.”

The malak bent his blond head down to look at the coin in his fist. Rokurou couldn’t see it, hidden by the brown leather gloves protecting the pirate’s hands, but judging by the visibly startled look in those piercing blue eyes, he could take a guess.

The malak closed his eyes, and produced something that was almost a smile. “Your name?”

“Velvet. This is Number Two.” She gestured at the boy, who bowed his head, cowed. That seemed to displease the pirate immensely.

“I’m Rokurou. A pleasure.” He smiled at the malak, and meant it - after all, a bit of chaos sounded like fun. But there was no need to give him his surname yet. Not until he trusted him a bit more.

The malak frowned back at him.

“Eizen.”

***

Eizen had been assured that the route through the caverns to the back of the fortress was short, safe, and scenic. He’d soon realised that his informant had been tragically misled on all three points.

He didn’t know how long they’d been walking through a seemingly never-ending labyrinth of damp, mossy passageways, fending off daemons at every turn, but it had certainly been a relief when they’d found the exit… tempered by the fact that it was now dark, and they were all far too exhausted to go any further. So this last cavern was their shelter for the night.

It’d certainly been an experience so far. He’d expected to be impressed in battle by his new companions’ abilities, and so it had proved - in fact, it had felt good to finally be with people whose prowess in combat was equal to his own. As much as he admired the many excellent qualities of the _Van Eltia_ ’s crew, none of them could ever match him in a fight.

Except for Aifread…

Velvet was a berserker in a fight. Sure, she’d start off controlled enough - but it usually wasn’t long before she gave in to whatever emotions were driving her, becoming as rage-filled as the mindless daemons Eizen had experienced before. It was obvious to him that she was haunted by something in her past; her face usually showed nothing but disdain and disinterest in the world around her, as if her mind were on some far-off place or person. She’d mentioned a brother; perhaps it was something to do with him.

It also showed in her interactions with Number Two (and gods, Eizen hated that he was called that) - when he’d saved the boy from an unexpected attack from a scorpion, she’d shaken the young malak like a doll, until Rokurou had stepped in. He’d seen members of his crew carry a great trauma, even as recently as their failed attempt on Vortigern’s sea gate, but nothing to this extent.

She seemed determined to be alone, mentally if not physically, and Eizen knew that he’d have to try to find a crack in her armour to work with her for the best outcome in this mission. He might not be intending to stay in this little group’s company for long, but the lives of his crew depended on them being able to work together. But at the same time, he recognised her as being a decisive leader, just like himself.

Number Two was a problem - and one that he forced himself to concede that he most likely wouldn’t have time to help. Eizen had realised early on that the malak had been bound by an exorcist, and had his free will sealed away, and the mere thought of it made his blood boil. Humans didn’t seem to think of malakhim such as himself and the boy as anything other than useful commodities. They were treated the same as rappigs and cattle: kept tightly controlled and bound for the useful service they provided.

It frustrated Eizen beyond belief. He couldn’t help but think of the high mountain ranges where he’d been born, where pulses of mana had come together and formed his body, swirling with pure energy. The mountains which were still home to his sister. If only humans could imagine such freedom… but they were limited, thinking only of how malakhim could benefit their own lives. And that was why the boy was so meek and quiet that he almost went unnoticed, responding only to an order. In battle, Eizen only ever saw him out of the corner of his eye when he was summoning his own artes. But he was certainly useful; his healing artes had patched the others up numerous times, and he wasn’t timid enough to not attack.

To Eizen’s great surprise, the one he’d clicked with most was Rokurou, both on the battlefield and off it.

The daemon had a lot of qualities that Eizen liked, and would’ve looked for in a new crew member under different circumstances. He was incredibly sharp-eyed, especially considering that hair appeared to cover his right eye at all times, seeming to sense trouble approaching before the rest of them had the slightest whiff of it. He clearly loved being in battle, and made no attempt to hide it: he was a dancer, twisting joyfully across a battlefield like the waters of a river rushing towards the sea, eviscerating everything in his path with his twin daggers - and never the greatsword on his back. But yet he was remarkably controlled. Although Eizen could feel the rising bloodlust in him, and the increase in malevolence as a result, Rokurou never fully let go, and it made Eizen wonder what would happen if he did.

Plus, it turned out that their martial artes styles synced up pretty well. Rokurou would stun enemies with his speed, and Eizen would knock them down with his fists. He couldn’t ask for much more in an ally.

The swordsman was both an open book and a puzzle, at the same time. Rokurou was the exact opposite of Velvet; far from looking at the world with disinterest, he was seemingly curious about everything - as if he had experienced some sort of great freedom, and was truly out in the world for the first time, with gaps in his knowledge that he intended to fill. Out of all of them, Eizen probably would’ve deemed a battle-obsessed daemon to be the least interested in the plight of bound malakhim, or the exact origin of the Turtlez traders, but Rokurou had peppered him with questions throughout their journey through the tunnels. It was always hard to guess a daemon’s age, due to them being immortal, but Eizen would stake his reputation on Rokurou being very, very young.

He was lighthearted, cheerful, and easygoing… but every time Eizen exchanged words with him, he got the sensation that something was _off_ with the swordsman. He couldn’t put his finger on it; there was nothing wrong or unusual in his words, or even his tone - but there was just something absent.

It bothered Eizen. But he couldn’t help but admit that he was also intrigued. It had been a long time since anything like a mystery had crossed his path… except for Aifread’s disappearance. The difference was that maybe this was a mystery he could solve.

The object of his study was currently sitting by a small fire which Eizen had lit with his flint, busily filleting the charred corpse of a large bat, while the malak boy looked on with something approaching horror. Though whether it was at the unusual choice for dinner, or the daemon’s obvious deftness with a dagger, Eizen wasn’t sure.

He’d overheard Rokurou telling Velvet the meaning of his unusual name - “Son Number Six”, apparently - and between that and the clothes which spoke of an ancestry from some place other than Midgand, he had a feeling that Rokurou was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. He’d heard rumours before of a clan of swordsmen whose ancestor had come from another land; a clan who were so feared within the criminal underworlds which infested Midgand that their name was rarely spoken, in fear of invoking them. But Eizen had heard a name: House Rangetsu. And it had come with a warning to never interact with them, never be near one, lest you learn too much and mark yourself for assassination.

Eizen had never spent time around daemons, for his own good. If he were being honest, he didn’t know too much about them on a more practical level, only in theory. And here was one, sitting mere metres away, who was open and talkative and had mysterious origins to boot.

_Damn my thirst for knowledge_ , Eizen realised. It was practically a curse in itself.

Velvet appeared to have noticed Number Two’s reluctance to eat the chargrilled bat with its crackled wings, giving out an audible sigh. 

“Come on. We’ll see if we can find some berries or something.” Eizen watched the boy slip his hand into Velvet’s; mere hours earlier, she’d been shaking him in a fury. Maybe there were still some things about malakhim that he needed to learn, as well as daemons.

“Yo, Eizen - want some?”

He turned to where Rokurou sat, pointing a dagger at a spread-eagled lump of charcoal on the ground. In the absence of anything to use as a plate, the bat’s corpse served as its own platter.

“Thanks. I think.” He strode over and settled himself down, on the opposite side of the fire. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m a bit out of practise with this stuff.” Rokurou was already skewering another bat on to his dagger, roasting it like a marshmallow. In the flickering orange light and heat haze, ash and smoke dancing around shaggy black hair, he looked every inch the daemon.

“What are you, Rokurou?” His directness even surprised Eizen himself. But he just couldn’t understand how the swordsman could always be so cheerful, when his very daemonic nature meant that at one point in his human life, his heart had been filled with so much malevolence that it had literally poisoned his very body and soul.

Rokurou laughed, not even looking up from what he was doing. “Oh man, there’s a lot of answers to that question!”

And there it was again; that sense that something about Rokurou was just _off_. He’d spoken with easygoing humour, his body showed no tension - but there was just something missing, and Eizen hated not knowing what he wasn’t picking up on.

“I mean it. You and Velvet are both daemons, but you’re completely different.” Eizen took a bite of the bat meat; it was as burnt as it looked. “And most of the daemons I’ve ever fought against were beasts, lost to themselves. Yet here we are, having a conversation.”

Rokurou met his gaze this time, still smiling lazily. Intelligence sparkled in his amber eye, set in a face that was surprisingly fine-featured. 

“I’m a yaksha.”

“A yaksha…” Eizen remembered the word from somewhere. He hadn’t come across it often across the centuries, but he recalled something about daemons who were drawn to blood and carnage, who would stop at nothing to fight until there were no opponents left on the field. “A war daemon?”

“Yup, apparently. That’s what I got told.” He shrugged, flicking his gaze down to twirl his dagger and burn the other side of the bat. “I don’t really know much about it.”

“Because you’ve been imprisoned somewhere for a while.” It was an educated guess, but from the startled look on Rokurou’s face, he assumed it had hit the mark. Partly, he knew he just couldn’t resist showing off how clever he was; Edna had always warned him about that. “And you were taken by the daemonblight while you were captive. You’re just working all this out for yourself.”

“How the hell did you know that?” His tone was guarded, but not as surprised as Eizen would’ve expected.

“Your hair hasn’t been cut in a long time; neither has Velvet’s. And you were rusty when you fought me this morning; you made a mistake and let me land a hit on you.” Something passed across Rokurou’s visible eye at that, but Eizen continued on. “You’ve been somewhere you haven’t been able to move far, or freely, though you’ve tried to keep yourself ready for action, in the small space you’ve had. Plus, there’s not a spare scrap of flesh on you; guessing they didn’t feed you too well.”

“Hmm. Nicely done.” Rokurou withdrew the bat from the fire; it was just as blackened as his previous attempt, if not more so. “Yeah, I was in prison. Got sent there by someone with a bone to pick. Though I was meant to have a five hundred year sentence, so guess I can’t complain too much.”

“How old are you?”

An amber eye swung up to look thoughtfully at the cave ceiling. “Let me see… I was in prison for three years… nineteen when I went in... so I guess that makes me twenty-two now.”. 

Gods, Eizen loved being right.

“You look about thirty, maybe?” Rokurou was appraising him carefully.

Sure, let him think that. People tended to get nervy when they discovered that Eizen was just over a thousand years old.

“You’ve got a lot of poise in battle for someone that young. Is that part of being a yaksha, too?” 

“Maybe. I don’t know. But it’s probably my training from when I was a human. That’s what helped me resist the daemonblight when I caught it; I tried to fight it off. Didn’t work, but I guess that’s why I look a bit more human than most daemons.” Rokurou lifted a dagger to his mouth, gracefully sliding off a chunk of bat with his teeth, before chewing. “Fuck, that’s bad.”

Eizen ignored the word; he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time he’d hear Rokurou swear, even if he had surprisingly good manners the rest of the time. And it wasn’t like he was unused to it; the expression “swearing like a sailor” existed for a reason. Plus this information was just too interesting. “So you were trained to fight?”

“From the moment I could walk.” He said it without pride, just stating fact as he busied himself with cutting free some more meat, a little more gingerly this time.

Sounded about right for a clan of shadowy swordsmen, if Eizen’s suspicions were correct. He searched his wits for a way to draw the information out: remembered the conversation between Rokurou and Velvet he’d heard earlier.

“Battle trained from a young age, eh? I suppose you’re not too different from the boy.”

“Number Two?” That made Rokurou burst into full-throated laughter, shaking on the other side of the campfire. “Oh trust me, I’m very different!”

Eizen smiled and shook his head, as if conceding the point. “It makes me angry to see him like that, drained of any emotion or choice over his own life. He might as well not be alive. He’s been used as a tool by humans, as a weapon - they can’t even be bothered to give him an identity of his own, so they called him Number Two.” 

Rokurou stared at him levelly, the bat seemingly forgotten. He didn’t seem to react to the similarity in the boy’s name to his own, so Eizen pushed his luck a little further. Just to make sure.

“What does your name mean, again?”

A smile spread across Rokurou’s face, and to Eizen’s surprise, it was genuine, not hiding any other emotion. When he spoke, his voice was as relaxed and carefree as ever.

“You’re asking me a lot of questions tonight!”

Eizen harrumphed; maybe it was time to drop it. His luck only ever held out for so long, after all. “I’ve been answering yours all day.”

“True enough.” Rokurou leaned back, resting more comfortably against a slimy stalagmite than Eizen would’ve ever suspected to be possible.”You’re a wealth of information. But you haven’t told me anything about yourself yet.”

_You’re assuming I’d tell you anything at all._ But the daemon had a point; fair was fair. And he deserved to know what sort of malak he was on a mission with; let him know what his kind could do, and how they wouldn’t be bound to the fate of others.

“There’s not much to tell, really. I’m a pirate. I loot, and I destroy, and I steal, and I kill. I make other people follow my decisions, and get them to do the same. I put everything into getting what I want out of life, and I won’t stop until I do. I’ve led more men to their deaths than I can almost count, and if I had to do it over, I’d do it all exactly the same.”

And that really was the man he was. That was what Aifread had taught him to be, shown him how he could overcome his fear of the curse he’d been born with, to the extent that he’d eventually given up looking for a cure. He’d been made anew, just as surely as he had been for the first time on that high mountain top. But he couldn’t talk about Aifread with these people; not yet. 

Though he felt strangely like he wanted to. Eizen looked down at the cavern floor between his legs, wondering if he’d been a little too confrontational, a little too aggressive. He met Rokurou’s eye, and saw that the daemon’s relaxed smile hadn’t altered one iota.

“Cool,” Rokurou said.

A sudden noise behind him made Eizen’s head whip around; he relaxed when he saw that it was Velvet and Number Two, returning from their forage. Her golden eyes scanned both of them, and scowled.

“Get some sleep. We’ll attack tomorrow morning.”

“Yes _ma’am_ ,” Rokurou muttered quietly, though he shot a grin at Eizen. And Eizen couldn’t help grinning back.

***

“You know, Eizen, I really like your style.” Rokurou stood with his hands on his hips, looking approvingly at the remains of a cupboard which had just been punched to death. “I mean, you could’ve just opened it, like a normal person.”

“Pff. Like any of us are normal.” Eizen finished sifting through the wreckage, crouching so that his long coat dragged against the floor. “No sign of a key here. I hope Velvet and the kid are having better luck.”

“Probably. They don’t have a Reaper with them.”

It was a cheap shot, but Rokurou figured that Eizen deserved it. After all, their assault on the fortress so far had been nothing but bad luck so far. Soldiers all turned into vicious daemons - check. The door to the gate’s controls locked - check. And the key to said door being seemingly impossible to find - check again.

On the bright side, Eizen seemed to be more comfortable in their presence today - his little interrogation seemed to have broken the ice, for whatever reason. It still would’ve been a stretch to say that they trusted each other, but Rokurou was certainly getting into a routine of having Eizen nearby during battles, and their partnership-of-sorts seemed to benefit both of them. Eizen was quick to finish off any enemies dazed by Rokurou’s martial artes - if Rokurou didn’t beat him to it. And the malak was certainly a solid presence to have around.

After the experiences of the first nineteen years of his life, having someone who would actually watch out for Rokurou in a battle felt _weird._

Stunningly, the pirate also appeared to have a sense of humour, if a somewhat grim and serious one. Rokurou was enjoying poking him, just to see what reaction he’d get.

“C’mon man, I mean it. Getting the information from that dude on where to find the key by punching him halfway across the room and snapping his finger? That’s next level stuff.”

Eizen glanced up from rifling through a desk drawer. “Yeah, I saw you grinning at that.”

“Damn right I did. You even gave him a speech beforehand.” Rokurou gave him a wolfish smile, and prepared to bust out one of his many talents: impersonation. Growing up with five older brothers, it had been a useful skill - after all, they couldn’t kick your ass if you were making them laugh at another brother’s expense. _“‘I hate people controlling me! I steer my own ship or I’m not really alive!’_. Proper evil villain stuff.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Eizen said sniffily. “And it wasn’t a speech; I was telling him the creed I live by. The creed of the Aifread pirates.”

“And now you’re stuck with us.” Rokurou casually examined underneath a piece of ex-cupboard by prising it up with the toe of his geta. Unsurprisingly, there was no key underneath it. “I think our creed is ‘Kill To Get What We Need, And Eat People.”

Eizen paused in his search. “The first part is fine. The second part… takes some getting used to.”

“You looked a little shocked the first few times Velvet did it. But that’s how she survives: feeding on daemons with her daemon arm.” Rokurou kicked the scrap of wood away. “I’m amazed that she hasn’t eaten me yet.”

“So am I.” Eizen had clearly decided that yet another piece of cheap-looking furniture didn’t deserve to exist any more, knocking the front panel off a cabinet with one well-aimed punch. “Feel free to start helping to look for the key anytime you like, Rokurou. It’s not like we’re on a time constraint here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rokurou looked up and down a bookcase. Surely one of these would be one of those hollowed-out books with a secret compartment? He’d always wanted one of those. “You know, you’re pretty good with your fists, Eizen.”

“Not as good as you are with your swords.”

Rokurou felt the compliment slide off him. “I feel like I’ve seen a lot of your crew with swords… do you really never use them yourself?”

Eizen peered at a document he’d unearthed, before tossing it over his shoulder. “No, not with the Reaper’s Curse, I don’t. It likes to rear its head at the worst times. I’ve broken blades just by unsheathing them, and once, just as I was about to deliver a finishing blow, my blade separated from the hilt and went flying. That sort of thing. A sword isn’t something I can rely upon when my life is at stake. I fight using only my own body; that’s one less thing that can go wrong.”

“It’s too bad you’re not a swordsman. I bet we could have had a hell of a fight.” Rokurou glanced up, and saw that the malak had paused in his search.

“I wouldn’t need a sword to make it interesting. What do you say, want to try your sword against my curse?”

Rokurou wanted to draw his daggers right there and then; the very thought of pitching himself into battle, against a cursed pirate who could quite possibly kill him, got his blood racing instantly. But Eizen was right, there was a time constraint if they wanted to get out of Vortigern alive. He swallowed the bloodlust down, but it lurked closer to the surface than usual, growling.

“Sure, if the right time comes. Just don’t whine when I end up winning.”

Eizen closed his eyes and smiled sardonically. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Rokurou, I don’t think this key is here. Let’s rejoin Velvet next door.”

“May as well.” He followed Eizen to the doorway, passing through to see Velvet with a small metal object in her hand - and Number Two rubbing his head as if he were in pain. Weirdly, the kid seemed almost happy about it, unless that was due to the shiny metal ship’s compass he held in his other hand. 

“Look what I found.” Velvet displayed the key in her long fingers.

“You found it? Now we can get that gate open.” Rokurou surmised.

Eizen eyed Number Two. “We needed a compass, too. Nice work.”

The kid beamed a smile, and Rokurou felt a glimmer of surprise. That was a sight he hadn’t seen before, for sure. “Thank you,” he said with a slight wince.

“What’s wrong?” Eizen asked, and Rokurou could feel that he was genuinely concerned. “Are you not feeling well?”

Number Two looked almost embarrassed. “My compass fell on my head and gave me a bump.”

“Let me take a look.” As Rokurou moved to the small child, he tried to remember if any of his brothers had ever done this sort of thing for him, after the various injuries he’d incurred during their training… nope, nothing came up. He carefully parted the boy’s golden hair with two fingers. “Wow, yeah, that’s a big one. I bet that must hurt.”

Number Two looked up with large green eyes. “Yeah. But at least I’m still alive.”

“Are you saying that pain is proof that you’re really alive?” Eizen folded his arms.

The boy looked up with the face of an innocent. “That’s what Velvet told me.”

Rokurou risked a glance over to where their fearless leader stood, waiting for them to be done; she scowled back at him. 

“Well, no worry,” he said hurriedly. I’ll just push your bump back down and you’ll be good as new.” He waggled his fingers teasingly, to the malak’s horror.

“Wait, what?” Number Two started edging away, as if everyone would forget about him if he managed to escape to the periphery. Rokurou laughed.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t sweat it.”

“Stop fooling around, you two.” Velvet snapped, and Rokurou had the distinct feeling that it was aimed at him and Eizen. “We have to hurry.”

So they were off again into the main body of the fortress, fending off the daemons which threw themselves at them, and Rokurou certainly understood what Eizen had meant when he’d called them mindless.They were feral, totally without reason, and Rokurou was well aware that he could’ve ended up exactly the same way if he hadn’t resisted the daemonblight attacking his body in that prison cell. Maybe he still could; he didn’t know.

He didn’t much care, if he were being honest. And since becoming a daemon, he’d found that he couldn’t be anything but honest.

The kid trotted just behind Velvet, proudly carrying his compass as if it were the most precious thing on the planet. Rokurou supposed that it was, to Number Two at least.

“You’re awfully fond of that, aren’t you?” he asked the boy, as Velvet jiggled the key in the door’s lock. It appeared to be stubborn, and it was almost amusing watching her try to be delicate and patient. She was in such a rush to track down the man who’d killed her brother; the irony of his own situation wasn’t lost on him. “Still, you should keep it in your bag for now.”

Number Two looked up at him, and nodded. “I’ll keep it in my bag.” He shrugged the little knapsack off his shoulders, placing the compass in with the utmost care.

“Good. You know, that’s a nice bag. It looks made to last.” Was this what being someone’s big brother was supposed to be like?

Another nod of that golden head. “It’s Maurits silk,” he replied, as if everyone knew what that was.

Rokurou tilted his head slightly. “I’ve never heard of Maurits silk.”

And suddenly Eizen was there, practically brimming with eagerness.

“It’s a fine fabric woven from the threads of a dandarantula spider. It’s got a delicate sheen, it’s soft as a baby’s skin, it’s light and stretchable, it breathes, and it's _quite_ durable,” he breathed as in a reverie.

Rokurou felt his eyes start to glaze over.

“But that’s not all. Its most fantastic quality is how it absorbs impact-”

“ _My_ , but you’re quite the scholar,” Rokurou broke in at the first opportunity. Was this a pirate with a _textile obsession_? And why did he get the feeling that he quite literally could’ve lectured them on Maurits silk for a few hours?

Eizen regarded him haughtily, as if Rokurou were some uneducated country boy. Which was halfway to the truth; Rangetsu schooling mostly involved swords and whatever else was necessary to get by. “Knowledge and experience help you sniff out the best treasure. If you go and stuff every scrap of plunder you find into your ship, she’ll keel over.”

Rokurou shrugged. “That does make sense.”

“What I’m getting at is, your bag is the best place for you to keep that compass stored,” Eizen finished. Hopefully.

Velvet had managed to wrangle the door by the time they were finished, and they let themselves through. As they walked through a narrow stone corridor, Rokurou could feel both Velvet and Eizen tensing up the closer they got to their goal - perhaps it was just the thought of the inevitable fight ahead.It wasn’t just a case of opening the sea gate, after all; they had to make sure that the battleship docked by the gates wasn’t in any fit state to intercept the _Van Eltia._

Weirdos. Rokurou was looking forward to that bit.

He was so absorbed in the thought that he almost walked into the back of Eizen; he hadn’t seen him stop. Peering forward, he noticed that there was a human armed with a sword standing in front of them, heavily armoured and wearing the white tunic and cloak of the Abbey. Plus a helmet with a fluffy blue plume, which Rokurou badly wanted to laugh at. It wasn’t even yak hair, after all.

“An exorcist praetor?” Velvet murmured. So, some of the officers here had survived the daemonblight which was running rampant after all.

“The docks are up ahead.” Rokurou could imagine Eizen fixing the exorcist with those cold blue eyes. “Like it or not, we’re coming through.”

“Hey wait. Are you intruders?” The exorcist's voice wavered a little, before building itself up into a confidence which could only be born of ignorance. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I will cut down any who consort with daemons. Face the fury of the Rangetsu sword style!”

The words hit Rokurou like a splash of cold water to his face; he actually felt himself physically jolt as he stared at the exorcist in disbelief. If this little pipsqueak knew Rangetsu style martial artes, then that meant…

The bloodlust he’d forced down earlier roared back up, at full force.

“Stand aside, Eizen.” That was his voice, different even to his own ears, with an undercurrent of a snarl. A voice that was never really far away. 

Eizen didn’t turn, keeping his eyes on the exorcist, but there was an audible note of confusion, masked with arrogance, in his voice. “No. You stay back. I’ll take care of this one.”

So Rokurou just walked straight past him, not giving Eizen the option, barely aware of his presence. He could feel his focus shrinking, as it always did before a fight, until the exorcist and his sword were the only things he saw; the only things in the world. He drew his twin daggers, and grinned. War, blood, and the insanity which came with both of those things sang in his ears.

“Sorry, this prey is mine.”

The exorcist praetor clearly didn’t like the sound of that; he summoned his two malakhim - they took the forms of of some kind of creatures, but Rokurou didn’t even notice them; he was already running full pelt at the exorcist, daggers poised to strike. Sparks flew as the exorcist brought his sword up just in time, and Rokurou danced away to line up his next attack - only to see Eizen steaming in.

_No. Die!_

Rokurou lunged back in, slashing wildly and aiming for the malak’s ribs as much as he was the exorcist; before managing to pull himself back from his descent into blind rage. Not yet, he couldn’t give in to it yet; he contented himself with snarling into Eizen’s confused face.

“Get in my way and I’ll kill you, too.” And he meant it. Eizen bayed something in return, but it was completely lost to Rokurou’s ears. He was too busy forcing down the urge to kill, letting his mind go back to its single focus, the exorcist. Let the others deal with his malakhim.

_Beat him. Question him. Kill him for this insult to my name._

After all, as the exorcist desperately parried the flurry of blows he was raining down upon him, this was pathetic. This was barely Rangetsu style artes; perhaps the odd one thrown in here or there, but most of it just standard swordplay. And not even good swordplay. It was like something was stopping him from fully committing.

He wasn’t even going to need Number Two’s healing after this. _Worthless! Useless! Pathetic!_ Three words which had dogged his human life, applied to this worm in front of him.

Velvet, Number Two and Eizen had finished off the exorcist’s malakhim. It was time to keep his cool and end this - but in the way he wanted to. He swept the blade in his right hand towards the exorcist’s sword, who obligingly took the bait and parried it… only for the hilt of the dagger in Rokurou’s left hand to smash up under his chin, and snap his head back so violently that the daemon wasn’t sure if he’d broken his neck. The exorcist crashed to the ground, undoubtedly painful in all that armour, and groaned. Nope, still alive then. Why oh why did they never realise that he was ambidextrous?

Rokurou stood over him, his heart beating quickly and his breathing hard, daggers poised even as he could smell the scent of his own excited sweat. Nearly there. He just had to stay focused a little bit longer… but first, he had to get the others out of there.

“We’re running out of time. You folks handle the ship.” That was good; phrasing it like he was doing everyone a favour by taking care of this guy.

“Careful, Rokurou.” That was Velvet, just over his shoulder. “He’s-”

“I know. He’s holding back.” Rokurou stared down at the exorcist, who was starting to pick himself up. He couldn’t fathom why in hell anyone would hold back in a fight, but he doubted that the exorcist would make that particular mistake again. Sincerely doubted it. 

“Let’s go.” Eizen had a heavy note of misgiving in his voice, but Rokurou really didn’t care right now. All that mattered was that they left, and he wasn’t content until he saw Velvet slamming the door shut from the corner of his eye. Then his full attention was back on the exorcist.

“Where did you learn the Rangetsu style?” He spat the words, wanting this human to be assured that he would get his answer, one way or another. As a daemon, he was meant to be an exorcist’s prey: he would leave no illusions that the tables had been turned.

The exorcist pulled himself up, sword in hand, even his very movements grudging. Rokurou wished that he could see his face. “I studied directly under the legate Shigure of the Abbey”, he boasted, still too stupid to realise what was going on here.

“Lies. He’d never take on a student.” Rokurou allowed himself a small laugh, pointing one of his daggers at the idiot in front of him. “Let me guess. He taught you a few things one time when he was super-bored, and then crushed you with them.”

He received his confirmation when the exorcist charged at him, sword pointing straight at his chest, with a cry that was full of wounded pride. 

Well, that wasn’t all that was about to get wounded. The bloodlust within him snapped its jaws happily, begging to be released, and this time Rokurou set it free; feeling his right eye flare as his vision became fully ruby-red - and he was lost.

It was almost like being half-conscious, though fully conscious at the same time, a release which was almost sexual in its relief. His body took over; he could feeling it whirling and striking, over and over again, saw flashing images of swords, daggers, blood, limbs, that stupid helmet. He could hear cries, which turned into screams. He could hear himself laughing, and something warm and sticky splashing against his face, dripping all over his hands.

And then he was back, the bloodlust gone as quickly as it had risen, his mind completely calm once more. He was standing with his daggers still clenched in his fists, over a pile of dismembered limbs. With a helmet perched on top. Also, a lot of blood.

_Oops. Probably shouldn’t have done that. Oh well._

He sheathed his daggers at his back with a sigh, feeling his muscles relax again. All he wanted now was a drink, and a bed. 

“That was about the saddest practise I’ve ever had.” He was still on his own; it didn’t matter if he spoke his thoughts aloud. “But at least I learned where _he_ is.” 

Almost on cue, he heard the heavy door handle turn, and the others ventured in - cautiously, as though they hadn’t been quite sure as to what they’d find. Presumably the battleship had been dealt with: good, he wanted to get out of here now.

He turned to greet them with a smile, making the rapidly-drying blood on his face crackle. “Yo! The Abbey’s my goal now, too. Now I can do what I have to do and repay my debt at the same time.” 

Of all of them, Number Two was the first one to follow the trail of blood from where Rokurou stood, and he cried out and flinched from the sight that met his eyes. Velvet and Eizen followed suit, the malak’s eyes flicking back to him sharply. Rokurou couldn’t quite figure that out.

Velvet met his visible eye with that half-lidded gaze of hers. “Is that your doing?”

“What, is there a problem?”

She paused for a moment before she answered him. “No.”

Eizen only gave his head a small shake, closing his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with sarcasm, realisation, concern, and… wistfulness? 

“A fine companion for the Reaper.”

And Rokurou wondered what the pirate had been wishing for.

***

With his boots placed firmly back on the deck of the _Van Eltia,_ a strong sea breeze teasing through his hair like the caress of a familiar lover, Eizen allowed himself to concede that it had been a hell of a couple of days.

Their escape from Vortigern would become the stuff of pirate legend, even if the rest of the world would view it simply as a horrific attack by daemons - possibly an atrocity. They’d released the sea gate doors as the _Van Eltia_ had approached, raced to the top of the gate, fought off the newly-daemonised fortress commander (which had made Eizen wish he’d snapped a few more of his fingers), before surviving a plunge of gods-knew how many hundreds of metres off the gate, landing in the _Van Eltia_ ’s billowing sails and sliding to safety.

He’d been reunited with Benwick and his crew, and the relief he’d felt at seeing them all alive and well was greater than he’d realised. He finally felt like the five crew members they’d lost in their previous attempt could sleep easily - and he’d be untruthful if he didn’t concede that it took some of the weight of responsibility off his own battered soul. Benwick had even managed to survive being in the company of the lizard daemon, and the pink magician - Dyle and Magilou, he had learned - even though the latter had gotten trigger-happy with the cannons. If she did that again, he’d happily keelhaul her.

And Number Two had a new name - Laphicet. He didn’t know where Velvet had suddenly got that from, but the boy seemed to like it. Shameful that a malak had taken this long to get a name… Eizen sincerely hoped that he could spend a bit of time with Laphicet at some point on their voyage to the capital, and teach him a little about what he was.

So, that just left one more problem for Eizen to deal with.

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, and the deck was quieter than it had been earlier. A meal was being served below, taking the attention of most of his crew, and the majority of Velvet’s group were resting up. But there was Rokurou, leaning up against the rail on the starboard side of the ship, watching the waters slip by, as the wind ruffled through the shaggy mane of a ponytail that lay down his back alongside his greatsword. He looked completely relaxed - harmless, even.

Eizen had seen the evidence otherwise. He’d seen a dismembered body, and Rokurou casually chatting, completely unaware of the smear of blood decorating the visible side of his face.

He had to ensure that his crew would not be put in any danger.

After the display with the exorcist, Eizen had delicately asked Rokurou if he had any Rangetsu blood in him, with a seemingly-innocent question about wishing to buy some knives smithed by one of the clan’s relatives. The depth of knowledge the daemon had on the subject was proof of one thing: Rokurou wasn’t just related to the clan; he was a full-blooded Rangetsu. Eizen couldn’t decide if he found that intriguing or terrifying. There was scant information spoken about the clan, but everyone who would talk said that they were all dangerous, with a varying dose of crazy in their blood.

But more than that, Eizen was concerned - to put it mildly - at what Rokurou had done at Vortigern. Not that he had killed the exorcist; Eizen might’ve even done the same himself. But to do it in such a bloody way, and to not have the faintest hint of remorse or emotion… he’d even sounded slightly surprised when he’d asked if it were a problem. That, Eizen couldn’t understand. He’d killed plenty of times, had seen others kill, had even seen _Velvet_ kill - and there was always feeling there. Regret, anger, sadness; something. Eizen had seen some dark things go down, especially when Aifread had been around, but few things had chilled him the way Rokurou had today.

And he’d been starting to think of the swordsman as… no, not a friend. That was much too strong of a word. But maybe someone he enjoyed having around.

For his own peace of mind, he had to confront it.

Eizen stepped towards him, loving the familiar creak of deck board and the whipping of rigging in the wind. Rokurou had a striking profile, and luckily Eizen was on the exposed side of his face; he didn’t feel like talking to a curtain of hair. The daemon tilted his head slightly at his approach, his amber eye warm and friendly. The streak of blood seemed to be mostly rubbed off.

“Oh, hey Eizen. Care to join me in watching the world go by?” He looked back out at the horizon, at the rolling blue waves. “I never realised how hypnotic the ocean gets. I can see why you like it… hey, do you think we’ll see dolphins?”

Eizen leaned his back against the rail. “A lot of people can’t bear the sea, until they get used to the motion. The balance system in a body’s inner ear often gets confused by the waves, and it makes them sick. How’re you finding it?”

He heard Rokurou’s laugh; such a light, pleasant sound. 

“Me? Fine - haven’t had any problems. And it’s better than the last three boat trips I’ve had.” He counted on his fingers, while Eizen fought the urge to tell him that it was a _ship_. “Last time, we got cannonballed by pirates. Time before that, I crashed the boat. Time before that, I was on a prison ship with chains around my neck and wrists. Heh! Maybe I’m the one with the curse!”

_Maybe you are._ To be chained below the decks of a prison ship, alone, terrified, then transferred into a cell with who knew what kinds of criminals surrounding him - no wonder Rokurou had become a daemon in such a place, overflowing with his own malevolence and saturated in that of others.

“I’ll cut the crap,” Eizen said finally, staring straight ahead, but feeling Rokurou start and turn to face him. “What you did to that exorcist was beyond necessity. I’m the First Mate of this ship, and in the absence of the captain, it’s my responsibility to keep its crew safe. That includes making sure that daemons don’t start killing on board, just because they feel like it.”

There was a moment’s silence at his side, before Rokurou spoke, his tone flatter now. “Are you going to feed me to the sharks, too? Since you already threatened the kid with that.”

Eizen ignored that. “You did just dismember a human. I have to check.”

“I watched you break a man’s finger when you didn’t have to. Do I need to check?”

“That’s hardly the same.” Eizen turned his head, and saw that Rokurou had gone back to watching the horizon and the sinking sun. “Why did you do it? I’ve seen you in battle plenty of times now, and you’re not like that. I can tell that you enjoy fighting, testing yourself and your skills, but you always have that focus, that...calm. Why do that to him?”

“It’s bloodlust.” Rokurou was as open and honest as ever, and once more Eizen got that feeling that something was just _off._ “I’m a daemon, and a yaksha; that’s just who I am. I might not look... super... like a daemon on the outside, but trust me, I definitely am on the inside. All the way through. And all a yaksha wants to do is fight and kill, so that bloodlust comes up real easy.”

“But can you control it?” That was the big question. And Eizen had no idea what he was going to do if the answer was _no._

“I’m always controlling it. Every day. Every battle. Well, except one, I guess.” He laughed, genuinely and lightheartedly; it almost completely threw Eizen off. “If I couldn’t control it, I guess I’d be killing you right now!”

“I don’t understand you.” Eizen closed his eyes in frustration. “I don’t understand how you can suddenly be so flippant about everything, like you don’t care. I don’t know how anyone, human, daemon or malak, can take the life of another and have no reaction to it at all. I could even understand if you were happy, but there’s just… nothing.”

A pause. 

“Oh yeaaaah, about that. I don’t have any emotions.”

“What?” Eizen opened his eyes with a jolt, turning to Rokurou - and in an instant, had his breath stopped in his throat.

The wind had been building steadily; now Rokurou was facing him head-on, the whistling breeze whipped back the bangs which covered his right eye, exposing the entirety of his face. Eizen saw, at last, that the daemonblight hadn’t just marked the skin on his neck and collarbone, but had irreversibly changed the whole of the right side of his face. The blighted skin was obsidian dark, but slashed through with scores of ruby red, making it look almost like molten rock. And his eye… it was more rounded, like those of the werewolves and beasts which roamed the land, a blood-red pupil which expanded in scarlet concentric circles. In contrast to his human eye, the eye disfigured by daemonblight was dispassionate - there was almost something unhinged in its stillness and apathy, as if there were a consciousness behind it sizing Eizen up, judging the best ways to kill him. Maybe there really was.

“Like, at all,” Rokurou added, as if that helped. If he was bothered by Eizen’s open-mouthed staring, he didn’t show it.

“You.. um…” Eizen had to reconnect his brain to his tongue; all he could think was _gods, that must’ve hurt._ “You… don’t have any emotions?”

“Nope. Not since I became a daemon. Though Velvet seems to have hers, so I guess it's a yaksha thing.” He smiled cheerily; the daemon eye continued its threatening stare right into Eizen’s soul. “I can feel surface things - y’know, like I can find something funny, or be surprised, or even like some things, but nothing that goes any deeper. I don’t feel sadness, or regret, or love, or happiness; that kind of deep stuff. I’m pretty sure I did when I was a human, but when I think of something that happened back then, I don’t remember what I was feeling at the time. It’s just gone.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Eizen had recovered from his initial shock, although he couldn’t quite stop staring at that eye. He was happy to admit that he was a creature of emotions, of feelings which ran as deep as the oceans he loved - what Rokurou described sounded like the saddest, most empty thing he could imagine.

“Nah. It feels right to me.” Rokurou turned to face the sea again, seemingly enjoying the breeze and sea spray. “It’s part of what I am; a war daemon. I can sense other people’s emotions, can feel tension building or decreasing, can read them on the battlefield and hear war on the wind. I just don’t feel any of it myself. I don’t miss having emotions, either; I’m pretty sure that I had too many of them when I was a human.”

So that was the cause of that _off feeling_ , why Eizen had always felt like there was something missing in Rokurou’s words. There was never any emotion behind them whatsoever, no depth of feeling. He was always so chilled out and free-spirited simply because there were no negative emotions dragging him down. But neither was there anything to lift him up; nothing but a daemon’s bloodlust which had to be sated.

He suddenly recalled what he’d said to Rokurou when he’d been trying to prise information out of him in the caverns, about how Laphicet was better off dead without his emotions and free will, and instantly felt like an asshole.

“I think I understand.” And he thought that he did, more or less, he just couldn’t imagine it himself. But it was as if a puzzle piece had slotted into place, and despite the shock of the daemonblighted side of Rokurou’s face, he strangely felt like he trusted the man more now. He was as unpredictable as the sea itself, as unknown as unmapped lands, but he was always honest with Eizen, straightforward. For all that he was emotionless, he could be kind. Something shifted within Eizen, and he couldn’t even place his finger on what it was. “I don’t think I need to worry about you being on this ship, as long as you can keep that bloodlust under control. Aifread’s pirates don’t care who you are… and I guess we don’t care if you feel emotions or not.”

Rokurou turned back to him and laughed, the wind still blowing the black strands of hair away from his face. “Haha! You’re so serious! And a bit… overly dramatic.”

“And you’re as blunt as a rock.”

“Daemon.” Rokurou smiled again. “Thank you, though.”

Eizen stared at the obsidian and scarlet skin, like the markings of some venomous creature, and wondered why he suddenly wanted to touch it. _Just to see if it was as hot to the touch as it looked, that was all._ When he wrestled his gaze away, he saw that Rokurou had that familiar lazy, teasing grin.

“My eye freaking you out?”

Eizen would never admit to that. “No.”

“How does it look? I’ve only ever seen my reflection in the bowls of water they used to give us in prison. Had to get other prisoners to describe it to me.”

Eizen regarded the daemon in front of him. “There’s a mirror in the bunk room if you want to see it. Besides, you should go and claim a space for a hammock in there. Otherwise they’ll put you by the latrines just to haze you.”

The wind changed direction, and the dark locks fell over Rokurou’s face again, hiding his dispassionate eye, the daemonblight on his neck and the merest hint of something red beneath his hair the only clues to what he was. “You know, I might just do that. Thanks, Second Mate!”

“... First Mate.”

“Whatever.” As Rokurou walked off towards the crew quarters, he threw Eizen a devilish grin over his shoulder which said that he knew exactly what the pirate’s rank was, and Eizen couldn’t help shaking his head and grinning back. However long he was going to be with these people, he knew that he was in for a lot of teasing at Rokurou’s hands. That didn’t really bother him one bit.

_A daemon who can’t feel emotion on board. I’d say life just got more interesting._

Eizen leaned on the rail and looked out to sea, just as Rokurou had done, and for the first time in a long while, he noticed the beautiful colours of the sunset, splashed across a wild, free sky. Amber, orange, red, and purple.


	2. A Matter of Honour

Eizen stood at the wheel of the _Van Eltia_ , and breathed out a satisfied sigh as Benwick threw the mooring rope to one of Port Zekson’s dockhands, securing them to the third bollard. No men overboard, no corsair’s scourge, and no kraken attacks. With the reaper’s curse never far away from striking him or the people around him, that was all he could ever ask from a voyage.

Of course, he’d got a wicked splinter stuck in his hand when a guard rail had mysteriously cracked, and Magilou had suffered a particularly debilitating bout of seasickness, but he could live with both of those things. Happily.

It was a fine, calm morning, and now that he was in port, he rather enjoyed the still air. Sunshine splashed down and warmed his back. Under different circumstances, he would’ve stood for a while and enjoyed it; maybe cracked a bottle of rum with Aifread. But he had more important issues to deal with, and so did his passengers.

The ropes were barely attached to the mooring bollards, and Eizen could see from here that Velvet was already straining at the leash to be off the ship, and heading toward the capital. She paced, agitated, as if every second she waited for the crew to put out the gangplank caused her pain. Laphicet stood by her side, taking everything in with wide eyes. The boy was coming along in leaps and bounds, though if he thought Port Zekson was a sight, he’d be stunned by Loegres. Eizen almost felt like accompanying them to the capital, just to see it… too bad that he had business to attend to. 

Magilou was leaning up against the mast, eyes closed and hands pillowing behind her head, as if she were enjoying a pleasure cruise. And standing nearby was Rokurou, blinking sleepily in the sunlight as if he’d just woken up… which he quite possibly had. Benwick had taken the night shift at the wheel for the last couple of days; he’d told Eizen that the daemon had been training on the deck late into the night. The malak admired the dedication, but he’d been hoping to share an evening drink with Rokurou, having spotted him taking the occasional swig from an unfamiliarly-shaped bottle. As a connoisseur of alcoholic beverages, Eizen’s interest had been piqued.

_Too bad that Velvet’s little group will probably all be dead or imprisoned within days_ , Eizen thought with genuine regret. Whatever her business was, she didn’t have the patience or composure to carry out anything other than a rash suicide attack, and she’d undoubtedly drag the other three down with her. Magilou would go back to whichever prison they’d escaped from. Laphicet would return to being a nameless slave, and as daemons, Velvet and Rokurou would be - 

He didn’t like to think about that. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Permission to disembark, First Mate?” Benwick sang up, with a sloppy salute. It didn’t matter - they were pirates, for crying out loud - but it didn’t seem so long since that had been his job.

“Aye!” He roared out his answer, as was traditional, to the cheers of his men. Velvet immediately headed for the gangplank as if she’d been shot from a bow, and Eizen tried not to take it too personally. He made his way to the gangplank himself; he’d already seen the dockmaster approaching from his vantage point, and he knew what it meant. His heart started beating faster, a steady, lurching thud.

Velvet’s group were already assembling on the dock by the time his boots touched dry land; he pushed past them to meet the dockmaster. The man was either walking incredibly slowly, or Eizen’s perception of time had gotten seriously messed up, as his heart continued to bounce off his ribs.

“Now this is refreshing!” Rokurou was saying, somewhere off to his left. “Sailing into port like normal people.”

“Well done, boy. The sharks are gonna go hungry tonight.” Magilou, and some sort of response from Laphicet in return. Eizen’s ears had tuned it all out, as the dockmaster stopped and gave him a nod.

“So, how were the northern seas, Eizen?” The man was an experienced dockhand, who’d spent his entire life around this harbour, and Aifread had dealt with him for years. He knew fully well why Eizen was here, but payment always came first. 

“Hellawes and Vortigern are in ruins. Trade with Northgand will likely be disrupted for some time.” Eizen didn’t waste any time on words. These ones were powerful enough; information that would make the dockmaster and his closest associates rich if they played their cards right with the various trading guilds. Plus, he didn’t have any time to lose.

“Well, I like the sound of that. I’ll have to act quickly.”

“Any word of the captain?” He wasn't sure how his voice remained steady. The phrase had been asked many times over the past year, but it had still rolled around his head many times since the sylphjay had reached him. Each time with a different scenario as an answer.

The dockmaster gave him a small nod. “Aye. It’s an old rumour, but they say Captain Aifread was sent to Titania.”

An old rumour, but new to Eizen, and he felt a small glimmer of hope bloom in him. If he could go there… find some sort of clue, just as he had when he’d found the pendulum… or even find Aifread himself. At the very least, surely someone there would know of his fate.

“The island prison overseen by the exorcists, eh?” Eizen dipped his head to the man. “We’ll have to look into that.”

“I registered your vessel as one of our merchantmen, same as always. But even so, stay on guard. There’s a grand ceremony being held in Loegres. Lots of watchful eyes about.”

Good advice, but not relevant to Eizen - he’d be sailing for Titania as soon as the _Van Eltia_ was restocked. But it did make him feel that pang of regret again: Velvet’s chances of survival had taken another plunge.

Speaking of Velvet, he turned to wish her good fortune - doubly ironic coming from him - and stopped. In the few days he’d known her, Eizen had learnt to read her scowls. Some were directed at individuals, others at situations, others at the world at large.

This was a situation-scowl, and Eizen knew already that the coin of fate had come up tails again.

“Don’t bother going to Titania. You won’t find Aifread there.”

“And how do you know that?” He knew; of course he knew. But he still hoped that he’d guessed incorrectly, that they'd been imprisoned somewhere else, so that he could shout _you’re wrong! I’ll find him there!_

Her hands went to her hips, giving her shoulders an insolent tilt. “Because I escaped from there. And before I did, I heard something from the prisoners. They said Aifread was the only prisoner ever to get out alive… and that he was taken by an old exorcist named Melchior.” 

_Damn it; damn it all to the deepest depths of hell_. It wasn’t just that glimmer of hope had been crushed before it even had a chance to live. He couldn’t help but look at Velvet, Rokurou and Magilou, see the ragged leanness that all three of them had, and the malevolence which seeped through the two daemons. That was the kind of place Aifread had been held in - only to be taken away by one of the Abbey’s exorcists for gods knew what reason.

Laphicet looked up at her. “Lord Melchior is an elder legate at the Abbey. He should always be present at the headquarters.”

“Don’t call him Lord,” Velvet muttered, and the boy flinched.

“Van Aifread’s our captain.” As soon as Eizen spoke the words, he saw Rokurou glance at him with one of his typical looks of insatiable curiosity. “It’s starting to look like his disappearance has connections with the highest levels of the Abbey.”

Magilou put the back of her hand to her forehead, as if such a notion had shocked her to the core. “Their headquarters should be in the capital, right?”

Laphicet nodded. “Yes, at the royal villa in Loegres. I’ve never been there, though.”

“And Velvet, your business is with a man in the capital, right?” Rokurou broke in, as if prodding her into a decision.

“Looks like we’re all headed to the same place,” Eizen summed up, and didn’t miss the grin that Rokurou gave him. Maybe he could stay with this group a little longer, all the time that they were useful in helping him to find more leads on Aifread. Benwick could take care of the crew while he was gone, after all. And maybe he’d get to see Laphicet’s face, and find out exactly what that alcohol was.

Velvet gave him a flat stare. “I won’t apologise for involving you.”

Eizen sighed, and shrugged. “Usually I’m the one who says that.”

*** 

The highway to Loeges was just as Eizen remembered. A simple paved path, winding through fields and wooded areas, pretty, homely… and low on humans, high on daemons. Some which were clearly formerly human, and others which had been animals, birds. It made Eizen wonder what it was about malevolence, how it could so easily build up in the hearts of not just humans, but beasts too. What caused them so much hate and negativity? Whatever its cause, it branded them, marked them forever.

Not that the daemons caused them too much issue, of course. They were capable fighters - with the exception of Magilou, who appeared to prefer flailing aimlessly at the edge of battle, proclaiming that she couldn’t possibly take part until she’d tracked down her accomplice. Rokurou had suggested that she was a con artist, and nothing that Eizen had seen convinced him that he was far off the mark.

Speaking of the daemon, it was the first time that Eizen had seen him fight since the incident at Vortigern, and it was as if nothing had happened. After the first few battles, when he’d been visibly over-excited yet under control, he’d settled into his usual steady focus. It was like a bird freed from its cage, shaking its wings before settling into flight. But as ever, he thrived in the midst of the killing and destruction; if Eizen hadn’t known that it was impossible, he would’ve thought that Rokurou was _happy._

Rokurou was twenty-two years old - a mere blink of an eye, in Eizen’s perspective. He’d been a daemon for three years, all of which, until recently, he’d spent imprisoned. How much of the joy he displayed in battle was a yaksha delighting in blood and destruction, and how much was a young daemon experiencing freedom for the first time? Three years was a long time for a war daemon to be confined in a small space, and Eizen got the feeling that even Rokurou’s human life hadn’t been blessed with liberties. It was strangely exhilarating to see him finding his freedom, and revelling in it. He had to wonder just how far those wings could spread.

Almost as if he’d summoned him, he noticed that Rokurou was starting to drift his way, as the group trudged along the path. They were in the middle, Velvet leading the way with Laphicet trotting at her heels, Magilou grousing to herself at the rear. Eizen was happy for the company though; being inland, away from the seas he loved, felt strange to him. That was probably unusual for an earth malak who’d been born in the mountains.

“Hey, Eizen.” Rokurou’s usual greeting; cheery, yet non-committal. 

“Hey.” The malak spared him a glance. Unlike Eizen, Rokurou was completely unphased by this whole experience, steadily walking the path as if he’d done it every day of his life, as if there weren’t a city full of exorcists ahead of them. Even the tremendous weight of the greatsword on his back seemingly wasn’t worth his notice.

If being emotionless meant that all trepidation and worry could be lifted off a being, then Eizen could start to see the appeal.

“Not that it’s any of my business…”

“But you’re going to ask anyway, right?” Eizen knew that he himself was a talker; knew that given the right subject, he could talk for days. But good grief, Rokurou was an asker beyond comparison. 

“You’ve got me all figured out already!” The daemon laughed heartily, and Eizen couldn’t help a smile in return.

“What did you want to know about?” He really hoped that it was a question about shipping lanes, or Midgand porcelain, or the native fauna of Southgand. That would help get his mind off things.

“Your Captain Aifread.” Rokurou gave him an enquiring look. “I can tell that you and your crew all miss him, a lot.”

“Aye. We do.” Eizen was silent for a moment, watching his own boots step on to each paved stone, over and over, the quieter sound of Rokurou’s sandals beside them. If anyone but the daemon had asked, he probably would’ve left the conversation there. But Rokurou had been straightforward with him when Eizen had confronted him; had opened fully up about his history and even his very nature. Fair was fair.

“Aifread is the most important person in my life - in all of our lives,” he began. “He’s been like a father to many of us. Malakhim don’t have parents; we are born of the energies in the land, and thrust out to find our own way in life. The rest of the crew may be human, but many of them experienced something similar in their own lives. Aifread took us all in, protected us, gave us a home, coaxed us through our hardest moments. He’s like a father, of the head of a family.”

Rokurou seemed to smile at that, so Eizen continued.

“He got me through many tough times, when it would’ve been easier - and safer - for him to send me far away. But he always took responsibility, both for his actions, and for his crew. He could be tough on us, but we always knew that it was for our own benefit. He’s a man who works hard, but plays hard in equal measure.” 

“Sounds like quite a guy.” Rokurou looked sideways at him, his thick bangs flicking forward slightly with every step. “I’m guessing he got you into quite a few escapades, too?”

Eizen barked out a laugh. “Did he ever! No one is more feared than Aifread’s pirate crew, from the top of the known world to the bottom. We’re the scourge of the Royal Navy! There was one time that we found a Navy ship, moored at a tropical island. Their captain had decided that it was safe enough, far from any pirate activity, so they left their ship on the other side of the island while they enjoyed some shore leave. They never even saw us coming! We overpowered the remaining guards, looted the ship of valuables, and then-!” Eizen struggled not to guffaw. “Then we dressed up a dead monkey in the captain’s clothes, and left it on the deck with a spyglass to its eye!”

“Hah! That’s funny!” Rokurou grinned. “I mean, kinda cruel on the monkey, but still.”

“Aye.” Eizen looked down again. Of course, there were other things he wasn’t going to tell Rokurou. Mostly, how he’d really felt about Aifread, deep in his heart. That was something that he’d never told anyone, not even Aifread himself. Hell, Eizen had even denied himself the knowledge for a long time. He shook his head. “We miss him. I’m a poor substitute. I won’t stop until I find him.”

“That’s understandable.” If it wasn’t his imagination, Rokurou’s voice was a little softer, and Eizen got the impression that he truly did understand, even if he didn’t experience the emotions himself. “Sounds like he changed your life, for all that he was a rogue. You shouldn’t give up on people like that in your life.” 

“No. I won’t.” Eizen glanced up ahead, at the open road, at the daemon woman who was leading them on this fool’s errand. “So… you were held on Titania Island.”

Rokurou sighed, as if exhaling an unpleasant memory. “Yup. Had a cell all to myself.”

“How luxurious.”

“Well, they kinda learned not to put anyone else in with me. Didn’t end too well for my first cellmates.” Rokurou gave him a look which was fairly piercing, for only having one eye visible. “I’m guessing you want to know what it was like?”

Eizen nodded. “I have to know.”

“It was nasty. Not gonna lie.” Of course he wasn’t; Rokurou’s tact appeared to have gone the same way as his emotions. “Prisoners got branded, like they were property. People got tortured. And if you weren’t, you were left to rot in your cell.”

Eizen’s throat constricted at the thought of Aifread being branded. He knew it was common practise in the empire’s prisons, but still - being treated like a piece of the empire’s property, to be at their mercy as if he were owned by them… Aifread would find such a thing utterly horrifying, as much as Eizen did now. He hadn’t lied earlier: Aifread was not the type to bend his knee to anyone - the captain would rather die. Eizen abstractly wondered if Rokurou himself had gone through the same thing, his body permanently marked by more than just daemonblight. Or Velvet, or Magilou. “Did they do that to you?”

“Nah. They left me alone as much as they could. My cell was pretty deep in the depths.” Rokurou chuckled to himself. “They slid the food in, I slid the piss pot out.”

“I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done to Aifread, whether he’s alive or dead. I swear it.” Eizen took in Rokurou’s approving grin, as the city of Loegres started to make its way into view, and steeled his will. _I will make them_ pay _for it._

***  
Rokurou ran up the absurdly long flight of steps in Loegres, his teeth gritted, thinking himself fortunate that he’d managed to keep himself relatively fit in the tiny prison cell he’d resided in for the past three years. 

Prison hadn’t dulled the blade; it had forged it anew, sharpened its edges. He’d spent hours going through as many forms as he could without the comforting feel of a weapon in his hands, while other daemons - his prey! - watched from their cells. Then he'd always slunk back into the shadow, watching and waiting for an opportunity to escape.

Escape had eventually come courtesy of the daemon woman he was currently chasing, desperately trying to stop her from committing suicide-by-exorcist.

_Dammit, Velvet! Since when did you get so fast?_

Anger was lending wings to her feet; he knew the feeling, having experienced it plenty of times himself. But he also knew that he was considerably faster than the rest of their little band: if anyone was going to catch her in time, it was him.

_I can’t repay my debt to her if she’s dead! As soon as anyone sees her arm, we’re all done for!_ He was well aware that his own daemonblight was fully on display as he ran, his hair streaming backward. Nothing that could be done about it, though.

The voice of Percival Asgard, crown prince of the Midgand Empire, rang around the enclosed space created by the castle’s wars, as Rokurou saw Velvet reach the top of the steps, and disappear around a corner.

“None here, I trust, are unfamiliar with Artorius’s noble act. To bring us salvation from daemons, he sacrificed everything. He called Lord Innominat, one of the Five Empyreans, and blessed us with the strength of the malakhim!”

His leg muscles feeling the strain and chest heaving, Rokurou reached the top of the steps, turning around the corner - just in time to see Velvet fling herself from the top of the parapet, slamming into the castle wall and hooking herself into the mortar with her daemonic hand, literally clawing her way up.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake,” Rokurou muttered, drawing his daggers.

“He serves as a shining beacon of Reason in this world of turmoil. And Reason is what binds us.”

Rokurou jumped out into the void, feeling vaguely glad that he didn’t experience fear anymore, daggers ready to strike at the rapidly-approaching wall. He smashed them forward with a cry, hoping they’d find purchase - and found himself dangling one-handed, bits of stone and dust tumbling past him, his right dagger having found exactly the same piece of masonry as Velvet’s claws. No time to waste; he hoisted himself up, stabbing his left dagger into another claw mark.

So raise your voices in praise to Artorius’s devoted work, to the saviour who purifies evil and guides our flock! Let us call him our Shepherd!”

Velvet disappeared over the top of the wall; Rokurou growled and doubled his efforts, hauling himself up the trail that she had left behind, ignoring the burning pain growing from his wrists to his elbows which was threatening to turn his arms into jelly. _I can’t let her die when there’s a debt outstanding. I have to keep my word._

_“Shepherd Artorius! Shepherd Artorius!”_ The crowd inside the castle sounded delirious, ecstatic, presumably getting a glimpse of their conquering hero even as a daemon dangled above their heads. It was followed by a new voice, one that was calm and steady, almost as emotionless as Rokurou’s own.

“Even though the world was filled with suffering, I had to ask something tremendous of you all. I entrusted you to endure the pains of Reason. I asked you to bind yourselves with shackles of your own will! For the only blade that can expel calamity is one forged from unshaking reason and the iron will to do what must be done!”

With one last effort, Rokurou heaved himself over the parapet and felt solid ground beneath his feet. No time to recover: he could see Velvet metres in front of him, crouching at the parapet’s edge as if watching something. He broke into a run.

“And now that very blade stands ready… before all of us today! I offer my body and my life in service to the people of this great land! With the blessings of the Empyrean Innominat, I will guide you to a world without calamity! And this world’s suffering will be nothing but a distant memory!”

Almost as if in slow motion, Rokurou saw his hand stretch out towards Velvet, even as she reared up from her hiding place, all darkness and fury, roaring her defiance.

“BUT YOU’RE THE ONE WHO MURDERED-”

His hand was on the top of her head. And then, with all of his might, he forcibly squashed a vengeful, bloodthirsty daemon down to the ground, adjusting his grip even as they both fell to wrap an arm around her, and pin both of her arms to her sides. She writhed and kicked, screamed at him, desperately tried to grab him with her daemonic hand, as Rokurou quite literally clung on for his life.

“You fool! They’ll see us!” he hissed in her ear, and the knowledge that he was right seemed to subdue her enough. She still freed herself by punching him in the stomach with her human hand, but as he got his breath back, he noted that at least she was crouching down again.

_“Shepherd Artorius! Shepherd Artorius!”_ the crowd sang out again, and Rokurou could see that Velvet was almost incandescent with anger. He felt it acutely, drank it in, and understood it fully, much more clearly than the emotions he’d felt coming off Eizen earlier; it was pure rage, and it made him snarl in delight despite himself. Then he was having to fight to control himself, resisting the urge to jump down to the balcony below where he could see a silver-haired man surrounded by legate exorcists - Artorius, he assumed - and fight them all, fight Shigure, even though he knew he wasn’t there. His instincts had already sized Artorius up at a glance, noted the injury to his right arm, the way he balanced his weight on his toes, the centering of his chi, and the careful stance which had him always on guard. 

He forced the bloodlust back under control, but he realised that he really, really wanted to fight that man.

_“You’re the one who killed Laphicet!”_ Velvet’s roar was lost in the noise of the crowd, but Rokurou certainly heard it loud and clear.

And so, unfortunately, did the young malak who’d just teleported in behind them.

***

Laphicet silently teleported them back down to ground level. Velvet looked like she didn’t enjoy the sensation of floating through the air at all; Rokurou merely shrugged at it. _Sure is a lot easier going down than it was going up._

He still felt a need to stick close to Velvet as they landed, and not leave her side, especially when he could feel the hurt and emotional pain rolling off her. She was liable to lash out at any moment right now, and if she drew any attention, he needed to defend her. The debt was far from repaid, though he did wonder quite what he’d gotten himself into by essentially swearing himself into her service. Oh well, kept him busy, and with a steady stream of death to be dealt: who was he to complain? And besides, in a way, this was what he’d been born to do.

Eizen had his arms folded, and that piercing glare in his blue eyes. Rokurou was almost glad to see it: the malak’s authority always seemed to have a tempering effect on Velvet - ideal right now, when they were in the capital city with all its exorcists. Though he’d quite enjoyed the Eizen who’d been spilling his emotions all over the highway to Loegres - he’d felt comfortable opening up, and that pleased Rokurou. He never would’ve guessed that Eizen had been physically attracted to his captain, but he’d picked it up clearly in the pirate’s voice both on the road, and at the docks. 

_Shows how much people hide behind words, I guess,_ he thought to himself, finally feeling comfortable enough to sheathe his daggers behind his back.

“The Shepherd Artorius? That’s who you’re after?” Eizen sounded incredulous.

Velvet looked away, the emotion burning through her so intense that she couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“Aww, and here I was hoping you’d just straight-up pounce on him,” Magilou commented.

That got Velvet to spin round again, eyes blazing. “That would be certain death. No, I need a sword of reason and will. That’s the only thing that can kill him.”

Rokurou was pretty sure that a regular sword, or two, would do the job nicely as well.

“Killing… Lord Artorius.” Laphicet repeated the words as if they were completely beyond his understanding. He sounded like he’d gone back into his semi-catatonic state; _I suppose shock will do that to ya._

“Playing it safe? Boooooring.” Magilou began to stroll, as if her day’s entertainment were over. “Regrettably, it is at this juncture we go our separate ways. I’ve got a bit of hunting to do.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Velvet growled.

“Goodbye.” Yup, Laphicet was definitely checked out for the moment. Rokurou really couldn’t blame him, given what he’d overheard.

“Farewell! May your days be fruitful and your nights tormented!” And Magilou disappeared into the crowds which were dispersing from the castle, as though she’d never existed. Velvet had a look on her face which said that she would’ve been quite happy for that to be the case, still radiating anger.

“If our enemy’s calling himself a Shepherd, he won’t be going into hiding,” Rokurou said, trying to diffuse the atmosphere a little before it started affecting him again. “Let’s take this slowly.”

Eizen looked down at the boy. “The old man behind him… Melchior, I take it?”

Laphicet nodded. “Yeah.”

“Let’s gather information on these people.” Eizen glanced around at him and Velvet. “If we know what they’re planning, we can find a weakness.”

“They’re the most powerful men in the land,” Rokurou reminded him, tossing his ponytail back over his shoulder. You didn’t grow up in House Rangetsu, and not know that there was a right way and a wrong way about making enquiries after powerful people. His family specialised in taking care of people who went about it the wrong way, after all. “If we’re going to look into them, we need a lead first.”

“Eizen. Do you have any underworld contacts in the capital itself? Like your friend at the port?” Now that she had a set goal, a way to advance forward, Velvet was back to her usual uptight-yet-controlled self again, and Rokurou could relax his guard a little.

“I don’t go inland much, I’m afraid. But Aifread has close ties to a shadow guild. A tavern in the city run by an old man called Baskerville serves as a front for them.”

She gave him a look that was almost disparaging. “A shadow guild? Those sorts of things actually exist?”

There was a gurgle, bubbling and rippling, and to Rokurou’s immense amusement, it had come from Laphicet’s stomach, as the malak’s face turned three different shades of pink.

“Hah! That settles it! Let’s head to that tavern. They’ll have food, I’m sure.” _And drink,_ his mind automatically filled in.

Velvet gave one more look up at the castle, before closing her eyes.

“Why not.”

***

This evening, Eizen had come to many realisations.

The first was that he’d been correct, as ever, and that Velvet was quite possibly on a suicide mission to take out the most powerful man in the Midgand Empire.

The second was that she had some kind of hold over Rokurou, which Eizen didn’t understand, hadn’t expected, and felt somewhat conflicted about.

The third was that the name “Laphicet” clearly had more significance than he had been aware of.

The fourth was that Aifread had a knack, bordering on genius, when it came to finding the most nefarious people to suit his needs.

The old woman who ran the tavern still wouldn’t give them her name yet - as any malak was aware, names had power - and she wasn’t relinquishing hers until they’d earned her trust. But she’d deliberately displayed the resources she had available, as if she were a trader displaying her wares on a stall. 

She had known that Velvet’s brother had been murdered in front of her eyes. She had known who Eizen was, even though he’d never met her. She’d been aware that they’d posed as a group of travelling performers just to get through the gates of Loegres, an event which had taken place only hours beforehand. 

Even Velvet had been impressed.

More importantly, she’d hinted at knowing what Artorius was planning, what the Abbey was up to, and that seemed to be the factor which was drawing all of their fates together. So a deal had been made: the four of them would carry out a few tasks that the guild wanted to be completed, all of them dangerous and illegal.

In return, they would have information, and a bed for the night. That was all: food and drinks were not on the house.

Velvet and Laphicet had already retired to bed; they would share one room, with Eizen and Rokurou taking the other. The boy had been worn out from travel and excitement, and Velvet was never keen to be in public if she could help it, where she drew stares and curiosity. 

That just left Rokurou, who was drinking on his own at a table, his greatsword unclipped from his back and resting against the wall behind him, looking for the world as though he belonged there. Another advantage of being a daemon, Eizen supposed - zero fear of solo drinking.

As if sensing his thoughts, the old woman placed a glass and a bottle of rum on the bar; Eizen immediately approved of her choice. It was a fine beverage, usually brewed down in Yseult and made with the freshest sugarcane from the area’s sunny slopes, pressed between two smoothed volcanic rocks, and fermented in oak barrels. He slid some gald over to her, paying more than he needed, which she accepted.

“A generous tip. I assume you’d like something else, in addition to what was already discussed?”

She was sharp indeed.

“I’d like it if you could keep your ears and eyes open for some information on a missing person. One who has an existing business relationship with you, that can be profitable to both parties if maintained.”

She sighed, as if she already knew it to be a difficult - if not impossible - task.

“Right. Your missing Captain Aifread. The captain has done much toward our viability. I promise that I’ll share anything I hear about him for no charge.”

Eizen nodded; he had a feeling that her promise was good. “Thanks. All we know is there was a pendulum on the ground at the last place he was seen. And that legate Melchior is somehow connected to the captain’s disappearance. How, we don’t know.”

“You have our word that anything we discover will be relayed to you.”

It would have to do. This guild clearly had spies everywhere, and although he suspected that information on Melchior would be carefully controlled, they had much more chance of finding something than he did alone. He took the bottle of rum by its neck, picking up the glass in the same hand, and headed over to where his companion sat.

Rokurou, polite as ever, silently offered the bottle of whatever he was drinking to the pirate, but Eizen put up his hand to decline. He was still interested to know what the man’s tastes were, as one alcohol enthusiast to another, but he wanted the comforting tastes and memories of rum right now.

“Sounds like you’ve got problems of your own.” Rokurou poured some of his drink into a small cup - a choko, if Eizen recognized it correctly. “Do you really have time to take on ours as well?”

So, he had acute hearing. That was worth noting. Eizen poured his own drink into the glass, watching the liquid swirl around the chip of ice which had been thoughtfully provided, submerging it, fighting it, and then co-existing with it.

“I could ask you why you’ve tied yourself up with Velvet.”

Rokurou smiled faintly; he seemed as cheerful as ever this evening, if slightly more thoughtful than usual. Alcohol had a tendency to do that to people.

“Me? I’ve got a debt to repay. Without her, there’s no way I’d have ever found my blade again.”

Eizen caught a glimpse of the giant greatsword behind him, still within arm’s reach. “A daemon repaying a debt? Ridiculous.”

Rokurou’s amber eye narrowed a little at that, but he brushed it off as easily as he did everything else.

“As ridiculous as a pirate malak, ya think?” He grinned, completely free of any malice, and Eizen had to concede the point. It wasn’t an obvious choice: most malakhim who hadn’t been tethered by humans didn’t want anything to do with their world. If Eizen hadn’t felt like he was forced to leave, he might still be there in the mountains, watching over the world with no involvement in it. 

He didn’t like the thought of that at all… even if it would’ve meant that he could’ve stayed with his beloved sister. There was too much to learn, and to experience, down here in the world of humans and daemons.

“No matter how you look at it, there’s nothing reasonable about our rogue existence. And in this-” Rokurou’s tone took on a slightly arch tone, “- _brave new world_ governed by reason, a rogue can either rage and become a monster like me, or…”

“... Or band together with others, like a shipful of pirates, perhaps.” 

“Exactly. I admire Velvet’s courage, squaring off against the whole world on her own. Few can accomplish that. It takes strength. Real strength. And I’m curious where it comes from.”

Rokurou really was a box of surprises.

“So you’re doing it for yourself after all?” Eizen watched him intently, watched the skin at his throat move as he took in his drink.

“Is that so wrong?” Rokurou met his eyes as he took another sip, challenging him, and Eizen sighed. 

“No… I’m the same. I need allies on my side with the strength and courage to combat this so-called order imposed by the Abbey. But anyone who’s willing to put up with the ‘creed’ folly of Aifread’s pirates has to be an even bigger fool than we are.” Eizen knocked back the rest of the contents of his glass, noticing that Rokurou had paused with his cup mid-way, watching Eizen as intently as the malak had watched him in return.”So I’m like you. I want to know how deep her foolishness goes.”

“She’d kill you if she heard that, you know.” Rokurou refilled his cup again - and seemed startled when Eizen moved his glass to clink against it, the two of them touching on the table.

“It’s a compliment. Fools that big aren’t born every day.” He took the bottle of rum and poured liquid into the glass, refilling it. It was an unspoken invitation, and he hoped that the daemon would pick up on it.

Rokurou did, picking up the glass of rum, and taking a draught. His eyebrow raised slightly; clearly he liked what he tasted. Eizen took the cup - and as he’d suspected, it was sake. The dry, yet sweet flavour, rolled around his mouth.

“Aha. And I imagine your dear Captain Aifread’s much the same.”

“Aye. That man flies his fool flag proudly.” Eizen set the cup back on the table, and refilled it from the bottle. He was aware that Rokurou was gazing at him - for what reason, he couldn’t say - until the daemon returned to his glass.

“I guess we’re all fools, in one way or another.” He finished the rum, and placed the glass on the table with an air of finality. “And if I keep drinking, I’ll be more of a fool tonight than I wanted to be.”

“You’re stopping?” Eizen couldn’t keep a note of incredulity out of his voice; it made Rokurou grin again.

“I know, right? Party pooper. But this stuff goes to my head a lot faster than it did before I became a daemon, and it sounds like we’re going to need clear heads to get through the guild’s tasks. I won’t be able to repay my debt if I’m too hungover to fight.”

“You were nineteen when you lost your humanity. Underage drinking? Tch. No wonder you became a daemon.” Eizen instantly could’ve kicked himself for the jest; as far as Rokurou knew, he had become a daemon simply by being unlucky enough to contract a disease, one that had spread all over the empire. 

It was the malak taboo, one that he was forbidden to break - besides, it was probably better to let him keep thinking that he’d just been a victim of misfortune. How had his guard slipped that badly?

He had a sneaking suspicion: the mention of Rokurou’s debt. He was uneasy with the concept. Perhaps it was just his reverence of Aifread’s creed, which said that every man should be free to create their own destiny. And perhaps that made him judge the idea more harshly than he should, but he felt a dislike at the thought of Rokurou swearing his life to another, especially when he seemed so free in battle. It wasn’t any of his business… but it was a contradiction, and one that he wasn’t familiar with. Unless there was something he was missing, he didn’t understand why Rokurou would voluntarily place a collar around his own neck.

Luckily, Rokurou hadn’t appeared to notice any of his thoughts.

“Oh trust me, underage drinking was the least-terrible habit my family got me into. That was just a way to cope with the battle losses.”

Eizen wasn’t sure that he wanted to ask. “What were the terrible ones?”

“Murder.” Rokurou smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll definitely see me drunk sometime soon. You can watch me make an idiot of myself!”

Eizen fingered the cup between gloved fingers, before placing it back on the table. It truly was amazing how casually someone could mention murder - and how casually Eizen could excuse it in return. “Then I suppose we’re done for the night.”

“I suppose we are.” Rokurou motioned at him. “You got the key for the room?”

“Aye.” Eizen stood, slowly pushing his chair back with his legs. “Let’s just get the correct door. I don’t feel like being eaten by Velvet tonight.”

“ _You_ don’t have anything to worry about - she says that malakhim don’t suit her palate. _I_ , on the other hand, am quite possibly delicious.” Rokurou took both of the bottles to the bar, placing them on the counter for them to be stored until their return, before rejoining Eizen to head up the stairs with greatsword in hand.

“Pff. You’d give anyone indigestion.” The wooden staircase was mercifully short - probably for the best, considering the state that some of the patrons probably got themselves into - and Eizen was unlocking the inn’s room before he knew it.

The room looked perfectly serviceable. Not quite up to the standards of his private quarters aboard the Van Eltia, which he’d taken great care in looting luxurious fabrics and furnishings for, but pleasant enough. There were two single beds with white cotton sheets, one by the full-length window, and one parallel to it, closer to the door. The furnishings were simple and rustic, but they suited the place well.

Rokurou peered over his shoulder. “Oh my. A proper bed at last.”

“Something wrong with your hammock?” Eizen strode in and claimed the bed by the window by taking off his long coat, rolling it over his arms and throwing it onto the sheets. Rokurou dutifully took the other, propping the greatsword against the wall once more, inches from the edge of the pillow. He sat down with a grateful-sounding sigh.

“Not as such, but… it’s kinda itchy.”

“Tch. We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.” Eizen moved to the window to stare out, leaning his hands against the frame, and listening to Rokurou kick his sandals off with a grunt.

The window gave him a perfect view of the main plaza of Loegres, the fountain which danced outside the tavern still sending plumes up into the air. It was a clear night, the stars visible, and Eizen felt a deep feeling of longing for the evenings when he was at the wheel of the Van Eltia, navigating by those same stars and feeling the wind ruffle his hair.

There were still people around, even at this hour. Normal folk on errands, or returning home from a visit to the inn.Their lives were so fast, so precious, and for the most part, unextraordinary. And that was the beauty of them. Nothing should come between their lives and their small, simple goals.

“Rokurou,” Eizen said, watching a woman happily make her way across the square, a child’s hand clasped in her own. “What do you make of all this? Velvet’s collision course with the Abbey. Do you think that we’ll cause destruction by going after Artorius?”

“Probably.” Rokurou’s voice was as relaxed as ever. “Would it stop you if you knew that it would?”

Eizen shook his head. A dog yapped at another, before the two of them played together, running around in a wide circle. “No. And I don’t think Velvet has any way of stopping, even if I did.”

“Then it doesn’t make much difference what you or I think. Plus, we have our own business to attend to, and I don’t think either of us has any way of stopping. I guess none of us are much different.”

“You’re right. But it’s easy to look out at a scene like this and have doubts.” Eizen continued to watch out of the window, but he was aware that Rokurou had moved to his shoulder, looking at the view himself. The daemon had a very distinctive scent: slightly smokey, like someone smelting copper on the wood fires that humans used to light in the forests below his mountain home. “When you see the adoration that they have for someone like Artorius, what will happen when we kill him?”

“Isn’t the bigger question whether we’ll be alive to find out?”

Eizen turned to him to answer - and suddenly realised, with a glance that went up and then all the way down, that Rokurou was standing right next to him with hands on his hips, as naked as the day he’d been born.

“Oh - _gods!”_ Eizen whirled back around, feeling colour rush to his face, unable to stop himself from uncontrollably flapping an arm. “What are you _doing?”_

“What?” He could almost hear that confused look on Rokurou’s face. 

_“You have no clothes on!”_

“Ohh, that! Sorry, forgot; I sleep naked. Hang on a minute.”

Eizen felt Rokurou move away hurriedly, but stayed frozen to the spot with his face resolutely facing the wall. The sight of Rokurou’s naked self: toned, lithe, clearly defined abdominal muscles and a v-shaped inguinal crease which led down to… well, Eizen couldn’t have that sort of distraction running through his mind, and certainly not for a daemon he barely knew. He made an internal note to try to erase those mental images later.

“I don’t know how someone can be so… oblivious!” he spat, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his back.

“I’m not oblivious, I just don’t see what’s wrong with it. Is it so bad to be naked?”

“Yes! I mean - no, it’s perfectly natural, but…. just put something on!”

“Okay, I’m cool. You can turn around.” 

Eizen did so and saw that Rokurou had thrown on his kimono as best he could, though still with absolutely nothing underneath it. The fabric was already trying to slip off his shoulders; his modesty was restored, but his torso was still mostly on display. It would have to do.

“Yeah, I don’t have a sense of shame anymore, either,” Rokurou confirmed.

“Clearly!” Eizen sat down on his bed, prompting Rokurou to follow suit, the daemon eyeing him warily. There wasn’t much point in getting mad about it; Rokurou hadn’t done anything wrong. It had just been a bit of a surprise, that was all.

_And he’s not unpleasant to look at, I suppose. No, no, shut up._

“Soooo, um… yeah, hopefully we’ll be alive to find out,” Rokurou finished his earlier thought, with an apologetic look. “Because now that I’ve seen Artorius and the rest of the Abbey, I’m not so sure that this is a fight I can walk away from.”

Eizen exhaled, trying to put the last few minutes firmly behind him, pretending that this conversation was something approaching everyday. “Well… me neither. And even if I didn’t have a personal stake in this, I don’t like the sounds of these new orders, and new leaders telling people how to think.”

“Maybe we should get some sleep. Want to be fresh and rested for tomorrow’s battles!”

That was one of the joys of Rokurou; normal service resumed so quickly.

“I agree.” Though as Eizen turned his back to allow Rokurou to disrobe and slip into his sheets, and as he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, he had to wonder what normal was anymore.

***

Eizen sat on the edge of his rumpled bed, placing his right foot into his boot as sun streamed in through the window. 

He was fully aware that Rokurou was still fast asleep in his bed on the other side of the room, sprawled out belly-down, with one arm trailing off the bed and reaching almost to the floor. He was also aware that the sheets had gone all over the place as a result of the daemon's tossing and turning, and that they were currently trapped around his waist and backside. There was plenty of golden skin on display, but none of it indecent. Thankfully.

He’d forgotten about last night, though. He enjoyed Rokurou’s company, thought that maybe they could be friends one day. He didn’t want to kill that potential friendship with any awkwardness. It was completely out of his mind, as he walked to the door, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the wallpaper. A fine mid-century pattern from Hellawes, he was fairly certain. His hand closed on the door handle, and quietly opened it.

“Time to get up!” he barked, hearing a satisfyingly-startled noise emerge from Rokurou, before he slammed the door behind him.

***

They were back on the highway again, heading in the opposite direction from last time, and Rokurou couldn’t shake the feeling that Eizen was kind of mad with him about something.

He hadn’t said anything, and he seemed to be over Rokurou forgetting to wear clothes last night, _which was a totally honest mistake that could happen to anyone._ There’d been a hundred emotions spewing out of the malak in that moment, so many that he hadn’t really been able to grab hold of any of them, but he was pretty sure that anger hadn’t been one. So it hadn’t been that. Good, because Rokurou really didn’t want to lose a newly-found drinking buddy.

But today, as Rokurou walked behind Velvet, keeping an eye out for anything that may attack her, the malak seemed downright snippy. It was as if Rokurou were annoying him purely by being there: every time a daemon attacked Velvet and he rushed in, Eizen seemed to deepen his scowl a little.

Oh well. Nothing he could do about it, anyway.

And today was the day they’d be carrying out the shadow guild’s tasks; there’d be a lot of fighting to be done, danger to be encountered, death to be handed out. Basically, the kind of day he lived for.

“Hey Laphicet.” The boy was walking alongside him, and Rokurou couldn’t resist giving him the occasional tease. It was the kind of thing his brothers had occasionally done to him, and the kind of thing he’d always wished they’d occasionally done more, instead of the six of them being a pack of wolves.

“What is it, Rokurou?” Laphicet looked up at him with wide green eyes.

Rokurou gave him the deepest, most intense gaze he could muster.

“Mabo curry.”

“Huh?” The young malak didn’t even have time to be confused; just as Rokurou had suspected, his stomach gurgled at the mere mention of his new favourite dish, making him squawk in embarassed alarm.

Rokurou laughed at his bashfulness. “You’re an interesting one! You like mabo curry that much, eh?”

Laphicet nodded. “It smells good, and it’s creamy and kind of spicy. Eating it made me feel nice.”

“I’d say you love it, then. Do all malakhim have such an appetite?”

And suddenly Eizen was there, as he always was when anyone mentioned malakhim, except that this time he was like an unexpected storm cloud covering up the sun.

“Each has their own tastes. Some eat a lot, some eat a little. Just like humans or daemons.” He couldn’t have sounded more terse, as if he desperately wanted to impart his knowledge, but begrudged doing it at the same time.

The boy didn’t even notice. “What do you like, Eizen?”

“Drinks, I suppose.” The pirate’s voice was a low rumble, and Rokurou’s ears perked up. Laphicet didn’t seem satisfied with the reply, as though he were going to keep asking until “mabo curry” was an answer.

“What else?”

“Uhh… pretty much just drinks.”

Laphicet turned a mournful gaze on him, as if there were something terribly wrong with one of them, and he wasn’t sure who it was. “Don’t you like anything else?”

“Is it a problem if I don’t?”

_O-kaaay, he’s snapping at the kid now._ As Laphicet murmured some sort of apologetic protestation, Rokurou saw that it was time to step in with some good old fashioned distraction.

“For me, it’s drinks and candied sweet potatoes.” He still had memories of the candied sweet potatoes that his mother had made for him and his brothers on the very rare occasion. She hadn’t been the kind of woman to cook very often, let alone something so sweet, and it had been on those occasions that he’d actually felt… something. Rokurou couldn’t remember what it had been anymore.

Laphicet perked right up, reassured that someone other than him liked actual foodstuffs. “That’s where you boil strips of sweet potato in oil and then coat them in sugar, right?”

“Yeah, I never get tired of them!”

Eizen fixed him with an unreadable look in those sharp eyes. “So you like to drink, but you’ve also got a sweet tooth?”

“Yeah.” Rokurou felt weirdly like he was having to justify himself. “Is that so strange?”

“No.”

Then Eizen was finished with the conversation, drifting back into his own space, while Laphicet took up chatting to Velvet instead. But Rokurou was pretty sure that he caught one word that was muttered under Eizen’s breath, so softly that the malak probably barely heard it himself.

_“Contradiction…”_

***

_This,_ Rokurou thought contentedly as he dodged an axe which which was bigger than his entire body, slipping under the gigantic ape-creature’s guard to stab a dagger into its thigh, creating both a howl of rage and a pleasing spurt of blood, _is what life is all about._

He knew that it wasn’t just his yaksha nature talking, but his entire upbringing as a member of the Rangetsu clan. From the moment he could comprehend the words of the family that had surrounded him at all times, it had been clear that the purpose of his life - as with all his brothers - was to take the lives of other people. And he was _good_ at it; he’d killed a man before he’d reached his tenth birthday. He was perhaps the second-best of his generation. But he was always second-best. 

Even when he’d been human, an obsession to become the best had flowed through his veins. Now he had dark, daemonic blood in him, flowing through his heart as easily as it had marked his face and neck, it was only strengthened.

And strengthening was what this was all about. He’d prodded Velvet into taking on the huge Code Red daemon - creatures considered such a threat that the Abbey didn’t even want to fight them - by telling her that it would improve their battle prowess. It was absolutely true, but he’d still been relieved when Eizen had backed him up, even if the malak had made a big point of telling Velvet that it was her choice. Rokurou had even promised to keep her safe during the battle, which had earned him another scowl from both Velvet and Eizen. 

But really, he couldn’t deny that this was about Shigure. The giant ape might not look anything like his brother, but it was powerful and unpredictable. It was practice, an opportunity to further shake off the rust of the last three years, and grow his skills beyond what they’d been. After all, his strength and skill hadn’t been up to par before; he wanted to know how he’d match up these days.

He could remember times when Shigure had picked him up and held him in his arms - as a small child, too sleepy to go to bed under his own steam, or as a pre-teen, injured in battle. He supposed that at the time, he’d felt affection or relief… now he just felt bitterness that he’d ever been that small and weak.

He did wonder why given how much he hated him, he’d never been tempted to call Shigure by his old name of Ichirou, though.

The ape roared at him again, swinging its axe in a wide arc, and Rokurou felt the breeze it generated ruffle his hair as he sprang back. Velvet was already leaping in for another attack of her own, and he kept her in his peripheral vision even as he repositioned for another feint. Eizen and Laphicet had the right idea: they were both keeping back, throwing in malak artes as soon as they channeled the energy. As much as Eizen clearly enjoyed fighting with his fists, this wasn’t an enemy you wanted to get close to if you could help it.

“Die already!” Velvet looked on the verge of losing her temper, though that was pretty standard procedure for her, and Rokurou put himself on a slightly higher state of alert. He knew that she barely needed protecting, but he would be there if she did, blocking anything that came her way to the best of his ability.

He leapt in, estimating the best place to plunge his daggers into the daemon’s spine even as he did so - before he realised that it was already over. Velvet had got her blade into the ape’s throat, and it was already toppling over. Rokurou still committed to getting the blow in, however; practice was practice.

She looked at him as he trotted over, flashing her a grin and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. 

“Whew, that thing was pretty strong!”

“You just wanted something good to train on.” She sounded distinctly unimpressed, standing with one hand on her curving hip as Eizen and Laphicet rejoined them, and again Rokurou felt as though he were on the backfoot.

_Magilou’s still off doing whatever it is she does; guess I’m the designated punching bag today._

“I’m not just in it for myself. If I get stronger, I’ll be more helpful in your battles. This counts toward the repayment of my debt.”

“But you don’t deny that at least part of it was for yourself.” Her eyes bored into him, and Rokurou genuinely started to wonder what it was that he’d done wrong today. Maybe Velvet’s instincts were picking up on Eizen’s tension, and whatever was causing that. Most people, when they had a Rangetsu sworn to them in repayment of a debt, didn’t question it. 

“Of course not,” he replied easily. “Every true swordsman wants to train so they can improve themselves.”

Eizen joined in the conversation, though he looked as though he wasn’t just casually interested. His eyes blazed with a guarded intensity. “It might be a little late to ask, but what debt exactly are you repaying, Rokurou?”

_Didn’t I tell you this yesterday evening? Are you hoping for a different answer? Why do you want to know this so badly?_

“My sword is my life. When I was separated from it, Velvet told me where to find it.” He tried to add a little bit of levity. “Also she broke me free from a 500-year-long prison sentence.”

“You say that like it’s an afterthought,” Eizen replied, slightly accusatory.

Velvet glared at Rokurou, and he successfully fought the instinct to take a step backward. “And that’s why I can’t fully trust you.”

“I don’t follow.” He could hear the deflated tone of his own voice, the beautiful adrenaline rush of the fight completely gone. Which part of this didn’t they understand? Did they really consider his being freed from prison as more of a worthy debt than the information on his sword? They didn’t understand the significance of his sword to him, maybe that was to be expected, but did they doubt his honour? Maybe he had to find a way to explain it to them. “Us Rangetsu men are renowned for our sense of duty and commitment.”

Laphicet shyly piped up. “Actually, now that you mention it, Rangetsu’s a pretty unusual name.”

“I heard your family specialises in unconventional swords and fighting styles.” Eizen seemed to have heard more about his clan than he’d initially let on, which didn’t surprise Rokurou - the malak seemed to know something about everything. Clearly the information about Rangetsu honour hadn’t gotten out there quite so readily, though.

“That’s true,” Rokurou confirmed. And perhaps it was time to let them know a little bit more about his background; he was firmly tied to this group now, after all. “Our ancestor was a swordsman from way off in another country who came to this land a long time ago.”

Velvet cradled her chin in her hand, as if pondering. “A foreign swordsman, huh? I guess that explains why your swords and techniques stand out so much.”

Rokurou felt a hollow feeling in his chest at that. He couldn’t feel pride anymore, after all.

“He had quite a hard time getting by in this unusual land, until he was taken in by an aristocratic family.” He met Velvet’s eyes. “Ever since, the Rangetsu clan has accepted the rule of their benefactors, and has served them in repayment of their debt.”

Velvet was deep in thought; over her shoulder, Eizen’s frown only seemed to continue to deepen. 

“Served them… as bodyguards?”

“Bodyguards, assassins, spies, body doubles…” He could’ve continued the list for quite some time, the various uses that Rangetsu sons were bred for, and the multitude of causes of death recorded in his lineage.

Eizen’s voice was almost sardonic. “Whatever the order, your family will carry it through.”

“‘Always return that which you’ve borrowed, even if you must repay it with your life.’ That was our ancestor’s creed. In truth, four of my five older brothers are dead.” An image of Shigure flashed into his mind, and he had to repress the growl that accompanied it. “You have to admit, we take our sense of duty seriously.”

Laphicet’s face was a picture, his mouth in a perfect ‘o’.

Velvet gave a typical shrug, as if he’d been judged and the matter dealt with. “All right, I get it. You and your family are all tied to your sense of honour.”

“That seems to be the case.” Eizen was still staring at him. “We can count on him… as long as he’s on our side, at least.”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair.” Rokurou was startled by what Eizen was saying; where did this mistrust suddenly come from? “I’ve just explained how important honour is to me. Hell, I’ve been with Velvet longer than you have. I’ve sworn myself to her.”

“We’ll see.” Eizen was still gazing at him, but his features did soften a little. Perhaps he needed time to process the information a bit; that was cool.

But once he had, Rokurou wanted to set the record straight. Even though he wasn’t sure why the malak’s opinion suddenly mattered so much to him.

****

If Eizen had missed his quarters aboard the _Van Eltia_ last night, then this afternoon had him homesick anew. They’d just checked themselves back into their room at the tavern, courtesy of the woman who had revealed herself to be Tabatha Baskerville, leader of the Bloodwing Butterflies guild. Now Eizen was sitting on his bed, at a loss for what to do, except to listen to the awkward silence as Rokurou busied himself on the other side of the room.

They’d had an encounter with an exorcist at the docks at Port Zekson, a red-haired girl whom Velvet and Rokurou appeared to be vaguely familiar with, and who had taken exception to them burning down a warehouse full of medicines. That hadn’t been anything unusual - he didn’t expect an exorcist to do anything other than attack daemons on sight, even ones accompanied by two malakhim - but her choice of tethered malak certainly had been.

A normin in a top hat, bedecked with ribbons like he was an expensive gift. It made a change from the usual tethered malakhim, with their faceless masks and blind servitude, but it was far from typical, especially when Magilou had turned up and claimed the normin for herself. That girl was fully beyond his comprehension, to his immense relief.

But discretion had become the better part of valour, and they’d escaped with Magilou slung over Rokurou’s shoulder. She’d disappeared again as soon as they’d got back to Loegres, which had meant that there was one less person to listen to Tabatha’s information and ultimatum - namely, that Artorius had left the city and gone north, to a place called the Empyrean’s Throne. That he would be completing a ritual there to move the seat of Innominat, and that it would be attended by the other high exorcists - including Melchior.

But there was always a catch when you dealt with shadow guilds, and that had been the tease of information on how to get through the Abbey’s security barriers at the Empyrean’s Throne - plus the demand that they would assassinate the High Priest Gideon in the Royal Villa, as payment for the information. He’d been behind the smuggling of a drug, and the guild wanted him dead. So that was their task for tonight, and they were supposed to be resting for a few hours before they set off at nightfall. 

Eizen didn’t feel much like resting, though. He couldn’t stop thinking about the exorcist girl’s malakhim.

Being inland was an unfamiliar sensation to him, but there were elements he found comforting: he could almost feel the earth energy flowing through the stone and soil, meeting and harmonising with his own. A feeling that would be denied to the exorcist’s malakhim in their masks, blank, staring, servile. They would feel nothing but the need to carry out orders, to do their duty, even if it killed them. They weren’t like him; they didn’t have their freedom, and didn’t even realise it.

And appropriately, here came Rokurou, a searching expression on the visible half of his face. Coming for the chat that Eizen had known he’d seek out.

He felt like he had aboard the _Van Eltia_ , confronting Rokurou about his nature because he didn’t understand it, wanting to make sure that it wouldn’t affect the lives of his crew. This time, he felt as though he wanted to make sure that the daemon’s nature wouldn’t affect Rokurou’s own life. That was how he was going to justify his admitted snappiness, anyway.

Rokurou stood, moving slightly into Eizen’s field of vision. “This a good time?”

Eizen nodded once, and Rokurou settled himself on the bottom of the bed, cross-legged and looking more comfortable in that position than Eizen would’ve expected. Silently, he reached into the folds of his kimono - and Eizen had to smile as he drew out a smaller bottle of sake. Goodness knew where he’d filched that from. It was immediately offered to him, and Eizen accepted, taking a swig before handing it back.

“Sooooo.” Eizen had noticed that Rokurou tended to draw out his words when he was confused or concerned. This time, it was possibly both. “Are we cool?”

Eizen sighed, closing his eyes. He must’ve been over the top today with his bothering thoughts - it always made him grumpy - for an emotionless daemon to feel the need to check up on the state of their working relationship. “Aye, we’re… cool.”

“Good.” Rokurou took a hefty drink from the bottle, before handing it over. “You’ve kind of been a bitch today.”

Eizen couldn’t deny it. There were many things he liked about Rokurou, and his blunt honesty was definitely one of them. There was never any need to guess what was on his mind, or any fear that he was withholding something from you. Everything was just out in the open. The exact opposite of himself, Eizen supposed.

At the same time, Eizen was naturally inclined towards people similar to himself in their philosophies. Perhaps it was the gratitude he felt toward Aifread, or having spent years in the company of a pirate crew who had their own, distinct creed. But he liked people who were steering their own ship in life - and since yesterday, he hadn’t been able to work out if Rokurou were one of those or not. He had bound himself to Velvet so tightly that he had been willing to risk his life, chasing after her while she was on a suicidal rampage, and practically throwing himself in front of her in battle. His explanation of his clan being bodyguards, amongst other things, made perfect sense, but Eizen was dismayed to see him so blase about possibly ending up on the point of a sword that had been meant for her. 

It shouldn’t have mattered to the pirate, but for some reason, it fundamentally bothered him. Perhaps it was selfish… After all, he’d taken enjoyment in seeing Rokurou so free, so wild in battle. But it sounded as though his entire life had been shaped and crafted by his clan, and even though he was now a daemon, he still pursued their philosophy. Was he actually trapped in a cage, bound by his clan’s creed? 

All he could do was take a leaf out of Rokurou’s book, and be honest.

“I know. And I can only apologize to you.” Eizen looked over to him, saw Rokurou give him a tiny nod in acknowledgement. “It’s just your debt to Velvet. It bothers me.”

“My debt?” Rokurou’s brow creased. “Why?”

Eizen tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling and wishing that he could see the stars above, like plundered gemstones on black velvet. “Aifread’s pirates have a creed - and perhaps it really is a folly, like I said. But we believe that every person should be free to make their own way in life, their own choices. It doesn’t matter if you’re human, daemon, or malak: you’re nothing if you don’t have your freedom. If you’re not choosing the course of your own life, then you’re not really alive. It’s why seeing tethered malakhim bothers me so much. They’re forced into servitude, and given no choices of their own. I believe that everyone should have their freedom.”

There was a slight pause before Rokurou’s reply. “Well, that sounds pretty dope to me.”

“But you’ve bent your knee to Velvet. Your whole clan has been in servitude to noblemen for generations - you said yourself that you accept their rule. You’re no different from a tethered malak, except that you’ve voluntarily put on the shackles.”

“No, man. This is different.” Rokurou shook his head slightly, making his bangs wave and show off scarlet flashes underneath. He didn’t sound pissed off, as unruffled as ever. “This is my clan’s tradition; it’s what defines us. It’s just what I am.”

“Then help me to understand why a daemon, who just spent three years locked up and living by someone else’s rules, and who clearly values their freedom, would allow others to determine his life?” Eizen took a longer drink from the bottle than he intended to, giving a quiet hiss as the stuff burnt the back of his throat. “It’s contradictory. You don’t need to live by those rules anymore.”

Rokurou leaned forward, using one hand to support himself so he was closer to Eizen, and the malak hadn’t seen him look so earnest. 

“I know I don’t. But it’s my choice to live by my clan’s rules, and one that I’ve made freely. No one can tell me that I shouldn’t.” He looked down at the sheets, ink-black hair hiding his face entirely. “Honour is important to me. I made mistakes when I was human, and did some things that were unworthy - our tradition says that I should’ve killed myself to regain my honour, but I couldn’t even bring myself to do that. Maybe that’s why it’s a big deal to me now that I’m a daemon. But whatever my clan does, whatever it’s done in the past, our bushido code has always been our primary guide.” 

“Bushido code?” Eizen recalled a mention he’d heard of the word before, centuries ago, and he found himself interested despite his misgivings.

“It’s a way of thinking, one which my ancestor brought from his homeland. ‘Be loyal to your lord, respect your parents, protect the weak, and act with honour’. My family has lived by that code ever since, just as you live by yours. We’ll do anything we’re asked to do, because that honours the sacrifices that our ancestors made before us. And… the clan’s reputation has been damaged in the last few years. I need to restore it.” 

“By potentially throwing away your life?”

“If it comes to it. There’s certain things I’m willing to die for, and my honour is one. The honour of House Rangetsu is another.”

“Would you die for Velvet?” Eizen watched him carefully.

“If needs be.” Rokurou lifted his head and met his gaze steadily. “But I sure as hell don’t intend to.”

Eizen gave a faint smile. “Good. Who would I get my sake from?”

“I’m glad you still trust me enough to drink it. Earlier on, you seemed to think I’d switch sides on you.” Rokurou took a sip. “Though this is the good stuff; it’d be a crime to poison it.”

Eizen picked a small piece of fluff from the bedspread, flicking it away. “I spoke out of turn - I was confused, and suspicious. I thought that if you were in service to a nobleman, perhaps your honour would tell you to betray us once everything hits the fan.”

“Trust me, that won’t be happening.” Rokurou chuckled, more to himself than anything else.

“I was worried that you don’t have any emotional attachment to us. To anyone.”

And Rokurou gave him that curious look again, as if he were fitting puzzle pieces together in his mind, before his amber eye became more serious.

“I don’t have emotions, true. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t like you. I mean, I like all of you.”

“I suppose I can’t ask more than that.” Eizen felt himself relax once more, releasing tension he hadn’t realised that he’d been carrying. “And again, I apologize for being irritable with you; that wasn’t necessary. It’s just how I react to stress. I still can’t say I agree with your clan’s tradition, but at least the situation is clearer now. I can respect that you choose to follow your family’s code, even if it’s very different to mine… I suppose we just have a clash of creeds.”

Rokurou smiled, and even in the darkened room Eizen could see his shoulders drop into a more carefree posture. 

“Hell, I’m pretty sure we can come up with our own creed. Then we can have that in common.”

That prompted a grin from Eizen. “Aye, we can do that.”

“Friends?” Rokurou extended his hand: rough, calloused, but still as graceful as the rest of him.

Eizen gripped it in his gloved fist.

“Friends.”


	3. Shadows of Emotion

Eizen leaned back in his chair in the tavern area of the Bloodwing Butterflies’ tavern, watching the patrons who’d innocently come in for a morning meal, unaware of the daemons, malakhim, and… whatever Magilou was… who were still asleep upstairs. Of course, there was one sitting among them, but he passed for a human enjoying the dregs of a bottle of rum.

Maybe it was a little early to be drinking, but to hell with it. He was a pirate, after all.

Eizen hadn’t slept much once they’d returned from their technically-successful assassination misison; the dawn had already been lighting the sky at the edges. Velvet, all cold rage and revenge, would’ve been quite happy to push straight to the Empyrean’s Throne now she knew that she needed four malakhim in order to break the security barrier which surrounded it, even though she was still one short. But Laphicet had been exhausted, falling asleep with his pilfered ancient book still in his hands, and she’d been forced to rest a while.

Though thinking of the malakhim they needed brought Magilou’s familiar, Bienfu, to mind. She’d forced the top-hatted normin back into her service - useful, seeing as it meant she could actually contribute to a fight now. But Eizen had to wonder if he should add Bienfu to the list of oppressed, enslaved malakhim.

The trouble was that he appeared to enjoy being enslaved by young women. Some things just didn’t bear thinking about.

He heard quiet footsteps starting to descend the staircase which led from the rooms, and was pleasantly surprised to see Rokurou come into view, the daemon’s amber eye showing recognition as he spotted Eizen. He clearly hadn’t slept as long as Eizen had expected, and his hair was damp as if he’d just stepped out of a bath; the malak caught the tavern keeper’s eye, and gave him a nod.

He’d been surprised at the relief he’d felt at patching up his tension with Rokurou, and he had to admit that with the exception of some unexpected nudity, the swordsman was an agreeable roommate. Though even as he walked across the tavern, Eizen noticed that he was getting a few admiring glances, specifically from the guild’s ever-present serving maid.

_Hopefully he gives me some advance warning if he wants to start bringing anyone back to the room,_ Eizen thought, noticing Rokurou’s relaxed gait, and the way his kimono accentuated his slender form. _I don’t even know if he has a preference either way… or if he’s interested in sex at all. Maybe he’s not. Or maybe he’s an insatiable lover, with a body that good._

“Good morning!” Rokurou said cheerily, pulling back a chair, and Eizen wondered why on earth his mind had gone there. He must be tired after all.

“Morning. I expected you to sleep until the afternoon.”

“Nah; kinda tempting though. I always wake up early when I know there’s a good fight on the horizon. Excitement, I guess.” He rubbed a hand through dark, wet hair. 

Eizen chuckled to himself, welcoming the distraction as he furiously backpedalled from his own thoughts. “I think you’ll certainly get your fill of excitement today. I don’t think Velvet will stop until we cut down Artorius.”

“I hope the legates are there as well.” Rokurou’s mouth was set in a thin line, his eye slightly unfocused. Eizen hoped so too; he could only assume that Rokurou’s bloodlust wanted the extra challenge, but on a personal note, he just wanted to get his hands on Melchior.

“Aye… though once we kill Artorius, all hell will break loose. If we’ve any business with the legates, we’ll need to be quick about it.”

“Trust me, I intend to -” Rokurou’s eye grew wide, as the tavern keeper slid a plate in front of him on the table, the daemon’s head following it like a hungry cat. “Is… is that candied sweet potatoes?”

Eizen smiled, flicking an acknowledgement to the retreating barkeep. It was his way of apologising, still feeling bad about having doubted Rokurou’s honour. “I arranged it with the staff. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Oh hell yeah!” Typically, the daemon launched himself in, picking up an oily strip and placing it in his mouth with an expression that Eizen thought was almost blissful. He hadn’t even been sure what reaction it would get - given Rokurou's limitations, possibly none. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this stuff.”

“You look happy,” Eizen observed, amused, picking his glass of rum back off the table.

“No,” Rokurou said honestly, still munching. “But I can still experience pleasure at things. And this is pretty damn pleasurable! Thanks, Eizen; I appreciate it.”

The malak took a contented sip of his drink. “We may as well get all our enjoyment while we still can. Given what happened last night, I still think there’s a lot of things about this situation that we don’t understand.” 

Rokurou swallowed his morsel, and paused. “The huge griffin daemon imprisoned in the Royal Villa? Yeah, I don’t get that either. Though I don’t think our trusty exorcist does, either.” He placed a strip between his lips, and sucked it into his mouth.

“The redhead? No, she’s just as confused as the rest of us.” Eizen put his elbow on the table, turning his glass between gloved hands. “And that’s what worries me. If she’s some sort of internal investigator for the Abbey, and she doesn’t know what’s going on in there, then what kind of secrets are being kept at the highest levels? Secrets that dark and deep are never good news.”

Rokurou eyed him. “You’re worried about your captain, aren’t you?”

“I’m worried about all of us, if I’m being honest. It’s seeming like it’s not as straightforward as it should be.” Eizen sighed. “But aye, I’m worried about him too.”

Rokurou tilted his head back to drop more potato on his tongue; Eizen was impressed at how many different ways the man was finding to get it into his mouth. “And there’s that weird thing with the daemons becoming human, too.”

“Our exorcist seemed surprised by that as well.”

“Daemons can’t become human again. It’s a one-way journey.” Rokurou motioned to borrow Eizen’s glass; the malak handed it over for him to take a sip. “But when that griffin started chowing down on the High Priest, he became human. Still kinda dead, but y’know.”

“I know.” Eizen sucked air into his cheeks, and blew it all out in one breath. “I suppose we’ll find out our answers today, one way or another. At the very least, they won’t matter anymore.”

“We’ve just got to get through the barriers first, with our _powerful_ malakhim.” Rokurou looked at him with a grin, the tease obvious.

Eizen resisted the urge to grumble. After all, it was as close as Rokurou ever got to a compliment.

“And don’t you forget it.”

****

“I swear we spend more time going back and forwards to Port Zekson than we do anything else.”

Eizen could hear the amusement in Rokurou’s voice as they traversed the Danann Highway for seemingly the twelfth time in a handful of days, and it was certainly true that the scenery was starting to get a little familiar, but that didn’t stop Velvet from hunching her shoulders. She didn’t even need to turn around from him to know that she was shooting a glare into the middle distance.

“Well, hopefully this’ll be the last time,” she ground out.

“Oooh, that doesn’t sound unintentionally ominous at all!” Magilou said breezily, and Eizen felt the tapping of the headache that he always seemed to develop when she was around. The witch was strolling along the paved stones as if she didn’t have a care in the world, her beleaguered malakhim trailing behind her on his tiny legs. “Can’t you add something on the end of that? Something like ‘this’ll be the last time before our heroic victory, which goes down in history as the beginning of Magilou’s legendary career!’”

“Or how about ‘this’ll be the last time before Artorius squishes Magilou like a bug’? I like that one,” Rokurou put in, to the accompaniment of an outraged noise from his target.

“If I get squished, you get squished. We’re all going down together now; our fates bonded together like star-crossed lovers!”

Laphicet had been walking alongside Eizen, seemingly still pondering the conversation he’d had with Rokurou earlier. The boy had been having an existential crisis of sorts, wondering what his place in the party was when he was surrounded by cursed pirates, witches, and daemon swordsmen, and Eizen couldn’t have been happier with Rokurou’s reply: It was down to Laphicet to decide for himself. He was controlling the rudder of his own ship. Since then, he seemed to have been giving it serious consideration.

“Eizen,” he said suddenly. “Do you really think we’ll be able to beat Artorius? Rokurou said that he looked like a pretty good swordsman.”

Eizen generally didn’t have a problem with lying. He was a pirate, a known criminal, and a consummate liar - sometimes even to himself. But there was something about Laphicet’s innocence which completely invalidated his practised abilities. He was such a tender age, practically newborn by the standards of an average malak lifetime, and had had his will completely wiped by the Abbey before he’d even had a chance to live. Lying to him, introducing dishonesty and fabrication into his discovery of the world, seemed utterly heartless. Even if the truth could be hard.

“I don’t know,” Eizen admitted, seeing Laphicet’s eyes widen a little. He couldn’t help seeing that mop of golden hair and wonder if he’d ever looked this angelic when he was newly formed. “If Velvet is right about Innominat being a false god, and just being another malak, then we have every chance. After all, we have malakhim and swordsmen of our own, right?”

Laphicet nodded a little uncertainly. “Right. Though… I don’t like the thought of bugs being squished.”

“That’s just an expression,” Rokurou said, joining them as they walked. “I wouldn’t want to see a bug being squished either.”

The boy’s face brightened, as if the sun had just come out. “You like bugs too?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“This is all very fascinating and all,” Magilou drawled, “but what the heck is that?” She pointed, one dainty pink glove showing the way, and Eizen followed her gaze to a creature which roamed in the distant sky. It was definitely headed their way, though: if he squinted, Eizen could see a draconic-looking body with a long neck and tail, framed by bird-like wings which looked like they were dripping with living fire. A feeling which was equal parts fascination and fear leapt into his chest.

Eizen really didn’t like dragons. 

“It’s a lindwurm,” he breathed.

“A what?” Rokurou asked, looking both alert and excited in an instant.

“Bieeeen! Lindwurms are bad-bad! Miss Magilou, don’t let them fight it!” Bienfu cringed with fear, hiding behind Magilou’s stick-thin ankle as though it would offer some protection. 

“We’re not fighting it,” Velvet growled, still walking as though she could outpace their interest. “Our target is Artorius, nothing else. We’re not getting distracted.”

“I’m not sure whether we get to choose if we fight it,” Rokurou noted, with far more of a thrill in his voice than Eizen liked, drawing his daggers. “It’s coming this way, and pretty fast.”

“Lindwurms are highly dangerous, but Rokurou’s probably right,” Eizen added. “They have excellent eyesight for their prey - if it thinks we’re a likely meal, it won’t be dissuaded by us running off. We’ll just make ourselves a more tempting target.”

“If it thinks we’re prey, it’s going to get one hell of a surprise,” Rokurou grinned, daggers held aloft, and Eizen shot him a warning look. This was no average daemon, and it had definitely locked on to them.

Velvet looked bitterly disappointed at having no choice in the matter, but she was forced to concede. She flicked her arm, and her hidden blade scythed into view. “All right. Get ready, everyone.” 

Rokurou didn’t even move; he was already prepared. Eizen shook his arms, relaxing the muscle, whilst Bienfu immediately metamorphosed into a ball of pure energy - the true form of a tethered malak - and retreated into the body of Magilou. Whether it was to lend his mana to her, or simply just to hide, Eizen wasn’t quite sure.

Laphicet, on the other hand, simply clasped his book to his chest, and tried to look resolute. It wasn’t entirely successful, and Eizen had to wonder how much influence this world was already having on him. Would there come a time when he would miss the brainwashed lack of fear he used to have? He didn’t think so - Laphicet was already learning that pain and fear were just part of life.

The lindwurm was getting close, and Eizen could see the mighty wing muscles straining in its keenness. He edged closer to Rokurou, who was watching the daemon approach with absolute focus. A screeching roar from the beast made Laphicet jump and shiver; Rokurou gave no sign of even having heard it.

“Don’t be reckless. This is a much tougher prospect than the giant ape.” Eizen frowned at the daemon. “Keep focused, don’t get in the way of its jaws or its tail.”

“Mm-hm.” Rokurou was either incredibly focused, or not listening to him in the slightest; he just looked full of eager anticipation. 

“I mean it. Don’t get killed.”

Rokurou turned his head in surprise, his ponytail brushing against the greatsword which Eizen would’ve been more comfortable to see in his hands. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

“Heads up!” Velvet yelled, and the lindwurm was on them. It speared down towards the ground, stopping just short with a beat of its wings which made Eizen’s blonde hair stream backward, its head striking forward to snap at Laphicet with its jaws.

Predictably, that stung both Velvet and Rokurou into immediate action; they leapt forward even as the boy staggered backward, visibly frightened. Velvet screamed as she sliced her blade through the air, aiming for the lindwurm’s eyes, while Rokurou seemed to be attacking what he clearly thought to be a weak point on the neck. Fiery wings beat around both of them, dangerously close, as the daemon propelled itself back into a hovering position.

Eizen felt a bolt of mana leave his hands at the same time as one of Magilou’s less-conventional artes; she seemed to be completely oblivious to any danger, prancing around with artes flying from her guardian focus. Eizen could only imagine the terror Bienfu was feeling, trapped in there and pressed into the service of a… well, weirdo. But it was far safer than being up close: as much as Eizen preferred using his fists to malak artes, he did not want to go close range with this beast.

The lindwurm seemed unable to decide which of the daemons buzzing around it was annoying it more; it roared and snapped at whichever of the two was nearest. Rokurou was employing his usual strategy of darting inside a target’s guard, slashing furiously with his daggers, and dancing away again, while Velvet preferred to stand her ground and fight a war of attrition. Both of them were having success with their blades: under the constant barrage of long-range artes, the lindwurm was getting battered enough to soften its scales, and allow sharp blades to leave ugly gashes.

Velvet was indiscriminate in her blows, but Rokurou was still focusing on the lindwurm’s neck, just behind its skull - and having some success, if the flash of pink meat visible was anything to go by. Eizen focused on it himself, throwing energy bolts with as much earth power behind them as he could muster. Laphicet had also recovered himself, sending his healing artes out when he saw Velvet or Rokurou get scored by draconic teeth, but managing a few offensive artes of his own.

For some reason, that seemed to madden the huge daemon in particular - possibly because Laphicet was small, bite-sized, and seemingly the chosen meal of the day. Eizen could see the beast’s frustration rise, turning its head to snap at Rokurou, who nimbly bounded away. But that left Velvet at the wrong end of the lindwurm, and wrong-footed; before any of them could react, it had viciously swiped its tail around and knocked her off her feet.

Laphicet cried out and rushed toward her, and Eizen saw immediately that it was exactly what the cunning lindwurm wanted. It turned its head back quicker than he would’ve thought possible, before he could let out a cry, and lunged at the boy with jaws wide open.

In that moment, Eizen knew beyond certainty that he was going to watch Laphicet die.

Instead, he saw something he feared almost as much - Rokurou throwing himself in front of the malak, his chest almost touching the creature’s muzzle, and stabbing it through the eye with a dagger. It was brave, and almost certainly saved Laphicet’s life. 

It was also incredibly stupid.

The lindwurm screamed, almost ripping the dagger out of Rokurou’s grasp, and swiped blindly with one of its clawed front legs. It connected solidly with Rokurou’s side, and the daemon became a blur of black, white and purple as he went flying, landing on the ground with a cry of anguish and an audible _snap._

Eizen ran towards him, barely noticing the lindwurm - until its scream suddenly increased in pitch, and Eizen came to a sudden halt. Velvet, forgotten by the creature after its initial assault, had shoved her daemon hand into the wound on its neck. It was being eaten alive, and Eizen had never been so happy to see something die in pain. She was still howling at it, and clearly wasn’t going to stop until she’d consumed every bit of it, and added its power to her own.

_No time to watch._ Eizen covered the last few metres to his friend, hoping he wasn’t dead, hoping to see some sign of life - and was relieved to see Rokurou roll on to his back, grasping at his side in obvious pain, but very much alive. Eizen hoped that he had the capability to talk, to tell them where the pain was, as he knelt by his side.

“Are you hurt?” It was the stupidest question in the world, but the obvious one to ask. Rokurou’s eye closed, his face contorting in pain, even as his teeth gritted.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuckin’ shitballs, fuckin’ fuck, _fuck!”_

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Eizen felt another flood of relief, before he opened his mouth to roar. “Laphicet! I need you here!”

Rokurou’s stream of obscenities quieted as soon as he heard the boy’s name, and Eizen couldn’t help but find that endearing. The young malak was with them in seconds; presumably he’d already been on his way.

“Magilou, help me get this armour off.” Eizen was already pulling Rokurou’s kimono down to his waist, giving thanks that it was such a loose garment. He was reluctant to touch the armour which was so close to Rokurou’s skin though; the pain was causing his malevolence levels to rise, and Eizen didn’t want either himself or Laphicet to touch him directly if they could help it. 

“Me? But we’re not even courting!” She helped all the same though, unclipping the armour and giving an unhelpful comment of “ooh, looks painful!” as they pulled it away. There was already reddish-black bruising around his ribs and collarbone, right where the daemonblight marking trailed down to. Broken, if Eizen had to guess. 

“It… is…” Rokurou gasped even as Laphicet’s healing artes enveloped his skin, and Eizen had the feeling that he would’ve inserted another choice word in the middle if the boy hadn’t been in earshot. The ugly bruising was already fading away, and Eizen took the opportunity to go through Laphicet’s silk bag, dropped at his side and forgotten in his concentration. He rooted around until he found what he was looking for, almost squashed under the ship’s compass.

“Lucky you, Rokurou; you get to have a medicinal gel.” Eizen sniffed the gummy. “Peach flavour.”

Rokurou lay back on the grass, bare-chested, with a silent look which said that it was the least of his troubles. His hair had flicked backward, and the sight of his sinister yaksha eye combined with his pissed-off human one almost made Eizen want to laugh.

“There. Does it still hurt?” Laphicet’s artes faded away, and Rokurou looked as good as new, minus some minor scrapes. He sat up gingerly, and gave the boy a smile.

“Nothing a gel won’t fix. Thanks, Laphicet.”

The malak nodded. “Thank you… for saving my life.” Then he picked up his bag and trotted away, toward a tired-looking Velvet.

“Welp, as much as I’m enjoying the view, show’s over.” Magilou gave Eizen a smile which was supposed to be sweet, but reminded him of clowns. Evil, evil clowns. “Would you like me to give you some time alone?”

That was another reason he didn’t like the witch; she was far too knowing. Well, not _knowing_ , but… wrong. Definitely wrong.

“Go away,” was what came out of his mouth.

“Fine! Three’s company, after all!” She ambled away, presumably to annoy someone else, and Eizen turned his attention back to Rokurou. He was already pulling his armour back on with the merest wince, until Eizen put the gel under his nose.

“Eat. He might not have got all the internal bruising.”

“Yes, mom.” Rokurou took it from his hand and popped it into his mouth, looking as though the sweet potatoes of the morning had been but a distant dream. He swallowed it with an effort. “Why do they make those things to be so fuckin’ gross?”

“It’s medicine; it’s not meant to taste nice.” Eizen shook his head, helping Rokurou locate the entrance of his sleeve as he pulled the top half of his kimono back on. “I’ve no idea how you can be so dumb sometimes.”

“Practice.” Rokurou shrugged, which caused him a small grimace. “What, was I meant to let the kid be dragon chow? I owe him a debt too, remember.”

“You won’t repay your debt to Velvet if you’re dead yourself.”

“I know… Laphicet just reminds me of myself, sometimes. Human me, anyway. I mean, different personality, and less stabby, but… yeah, can’t put it into words.” Eizen realised that the daemon meant it quite literally, as if the words containing some sort of emotion escaped him entirely. “Plus, I told him I’d look after him.”

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way, sometimes.” Eizen exhaled; it was almost concerning how quickly this little group had become entangled in his own emotions. He felt an immense affection for Laphicet, like he wanted to be the boy’s teacher, guide him through the tricky task of being a malak in the human world. Velvet was someone who commanded his respect as a leader, just as Aifread was, and he would follow her anywhere. Magilou was, well, Magilou. And Rokurou was a friend. A very good friend.

It was only as they continued their journey to Port Zekson that Eizen realised he would be saddened to leave this group, once he rejoined his crew aboard the _Van Eltia._

***

“It’s good to see you again, Skipper.” 

Benwick’s face was as earnest and happy as ever, and Eizen couldn’t help smiling in return. He’d noticed that he seemed to be smiling a lot lately; it was most unlike him - he’d have to stop, before the crew got too used to it.

After all, his news about Aifread was nothing to smile about. Eizen immediately felt himself sober up again.

He was sitting outside Port Zekson’s inn, a handsome timbered building with a wooden bench thoughtfully provided outside. He’d wanted to be a little further away from both Velvet’s group and his own crew for this conversation, even though he trusted both factions fully. There were just some things which neither group needed to know right now.

Benwick, alongside the sylphjay which had a constant perch atop his head, had a place of total trust and confidentiality, though. There were few bonds as tight as that between captain and first mate, and although Eizen was only a temporary replacement as captain, Benwick served him as well as he had Aifread.

“Likewise. I just wish I had better news.” His shoulders hunched over, as he rested his forearms against his knees. 

“You can tell me, sir. I won’t spread rumours around the crew, not until we know anything for certain.” Benwick remained standing, but his face was soft and young. He was an emotional man, like most of the crew - living a life of adventure on the high seas tended to bring out a person’s highs and lows. Not knowing Aifread’s fate was killing him, as it was them all, but the determination to see it through shone on his face.

Eizen nodded, feeling his face go back into its habitual glare - another habit picked up on the oceans. “All the information points to Aifread having been held in Titania Prison, before he was taken away by Melchior, one of the Abbey’s top legates. And from there, he’s just disappeared. No one in Loegres seems to know. I’ve got a shadow guild searching for information, but even they haven’t turned anything up.”

He could see the information circling behind Benwick’s eyes. “What if we went to Titania Island, tried to pick up the trail?”

“It won’t work.” Eizen looked up at him. “The only person who knows his whereabouts is Melchior himself. We’re on the way to the Empyrean’s Throne to take down the Shepherd - if Melchior is there, and if I can defeat him, then we may get some information. But there’s a lot of ifs there.”

“Wait, wait.” Benwick’s eyes had gone wide: even the bird looked startled. “You’re going to kill the Shepherd?”

“Aye. That was Velvet’s goal all along. She doesn’t think or talk about anything else.” Eizen spread his hands wide. “Whatever he did to her, she wants him dead for it. If we manage it, we may have to leave here in a hurry.”

Benwick looked over his shoulder. “Speak of the daemon; here she comes.”

They changed the subject until Velvet left again, talking about supplies and the scouts they were waiting for, anything other than what was actually on Eizen’s mind. Once she was a safe distance away, Eizen met his subordinate’s eyes again.

“There’s something strange going on with the Abbey though; I don’t trust it. They’re keeping daemons captive in the tunnels under the Royal Villa - a huge one at that. I don’t know what the purpose of it is.” He looked around again. “The shadow guild I mentioned also knew things about Aifread. They knew about the relic we found.”

“Siegfried?” Benwick’s blonde brows creased. “Why would anyone be interested in that?”

“I don’t know. But Aifread had it with him when he disappeared. Maybe if we can track down Siegfried, it can lead us to Aifread.” Eizen suddenly slapped his hands against his legs. “Maybe it can help, maybe it can’t. Maybe we’ll find Aifread, maybe we won’t. Too many ifs, buts, and maybes.”

At last, Benwick came and sat next to him, close enough to be a comfort of sorts. “We’ll find him, sir. We just have to hold on to hope.”

“I think I’m losing my hope.” Eizen rubbed at the palm of one of his gloves, feeling the soft, worn leather crease against his fair skin. “I just… I just feel like Aifread’s slipping away, a little further every day. I’ve found more information in a few days than I have in a year of searching, but it’s only made me feel like the distance is greater, not shorter. I don’t understand… it’s like I suddenly can’t visualise his face.”

“Maybe you’re just distracted.” Eizen couldn’t meet his look, but Benwick’s voice was understandably concerned. “You’ve been with Velvet and her people, and it sounds like things have been pretty crazy. Perhaps he just feels further away because your mind has been occupied with other things.”

_Other things. Other people. Other thoughts I don’t want to think._

“You could be right, Benwick. I’ve spent too much time inlan-” Eizen broke off suddenly, hearing unexpected noise from a distance away. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Benwick looked confused; human hearing wasn’t good enough to pick it up, which meant that the disturbance was further away - at the dockside. “What is it?”

“A fight,” Eizen said grimly, and started running.

***

Rokurou watched Eizen dash through the heavy gate which led to the Empyrean’s Throne - alone, unprepared, distracted by thoughts of his missing captain. The being he was chasing had just taken out a number of guards, leaving them crumpled on the cobblestones of Port Zekson, and was being hailed as an outstanding fighter by eyewitnesses.

_If he gets himself killed, then today’s been a whole bag of suck._

He never missed his human emotions, was glad to be rid of them, and it was especially true today - if he’d had a sense of shame, it would’ve been burning. He’d been injured by the lindwurm, tossed aside like a rag doll thrown by a stroppy toddler, and it had felt way too much like a defeat for his liking. Neither a yaksha nor a Rangetsu liked to lose a fight.

Sure, he’d saved Laphicet; an honourable act - but then he’d spoilt it by being in pain. His clan’s code said that pain was something to be endured silently and with as little fuss as possible. It had been the worst pain he’d felt since the night he’d become a daemon - mild in comparison to having every cell in his body set aflame with a dark poisonous fire, and having his right eye burst in an explosion of blood and fluid, but still painful enough to take him by surprise.

And now, he’d missed out on a fight with a pendulum-wielding maniac. It sucked ass.

He was pretty confident that the malak would make it out alive and mostly intact, though, so both his body and mind stayed in their usual state of relaxation. Moreso though, he just didn’t _want_ Eizen to die.

Meeting people as a yaksha was kinda different from when he’d been human. He couldn’t remember for certain, but he was pretty sure that when humans met someone for the first time, they didn’t want to instantly murder them. Even his family hadn’t been that bad. But he had to fight off that desire every time, ignore the information his eyes and senses instantly gathered on strengths, weaknesses, emotional state of being, and other factors. It took time for him to quell the need to kill, subsiding to a place where he just wanted to fight them instead - and Eizen had got there in record speed. That _had_ to be someone to keep around.

Plus there were a couple of things that Rokurou thought would be pretty cool to explore, assuming Eizen stayed alive.

Firstly, he _really_ wanted to fight Eizen, and he got the weirdest feeling that Eizen wanted to do the same to him, which got him excited. He’d watched the malak from the corner of his eye when they’d been in battle, partly to assess him and partly to admire him. His style was so different to what Rokurou had grown up with: his whole body was a weapon, whether he was summoning mana from the earth itself, or pounding the crap out of something with gloved fists. It was a total contrast to Rokurou’s own techniques, and he desperately wanted to see which of them would win, claiming their victory with blood.

The other thing was a lot less distinct, like he didn’t quite understand it himself. Eizen was like the older brother he’d always wanted. Rokurou’s five older brothers had always been focused on their training, and clan responsibility, and the amount of time they’d all spent actually getting to know each other had been minimal. He’d been forced together with Shigure throughout his childhood, and all that had happened was that he grew to resent him bitterly. Eizen, on the other hand, was someone that Rokurou could poke and tease, receiving a grumpy comeback in return, but also someone who had his back. He looked out for his daemon friend, and treated him as an equal, instead of considering him younger and inferior.

But if Eizen felt like an older brother, then it was a brother who did weird things to the pit of his stomach, giving him sensations which were familiar, yet dulled. Human emotions were always vague to Rokurou, as though he were viewing an object through a gauzy screen. He could see the hazy shape of the object, but he recalled the details more from memory rather than what he could see, and the memories themselves were highly indistinct. He’d occasionally feel the stirring of something or other, but it was more like he was experiencing the shadow of an emotion - a space where it used to be.

This, however - if he had to make a guess at this sensation, he’d definitely put it down as lust.

As he’d told Eizen himself, Rokurou could still experience a feeling of pleasure at things, and being around the malak was one of them. Aside from his personality (which was frequently moody and preoccupied, but he could live with it), he liked his eyes; as blue as the sky and sharp as glass. His black clothing hung off his spare form, his shoulders and hips all angles, and he had a powerful, dominating presence. Most of all, Rokurou liked those gloved hands, hidden by old leather, and capable of dealing out a beating. 

And that was sort of the problem. He liked the thought of those hands grabbing at him, running over his body, but he also liked the thought of fighting against them. Lust and bloodlust were intrinsically linked together in his yaksha soul, and he genuinely couldn’t tell if he felt one of them, or both of them. He’d even thought about it in his bath that morning, to the extent that he’d slid down further into the water than he’d intended and gotten his hair wet, one hand casually migrating south at the thought of it all. But even that hadn’t got it out of his system.

So, it would be cool if Eizen stayed alive, and he could work out which it was. But if not, oh well. That would be cool too.

Velvet was here now, and already deciding that they’d run after Eizen. She needed him to get through that barrier, after all.

Rokurou just wished he could work out what he needed from Eizen, too.

***

The pendulum fighter was good. Not as good as Rokurou, of course, and not up to Eizen’s standard. But pretty capable. And interesting in a way, with his white hair and black jacket, which was artfully opened enough to reveal toned pectoral muscles. 

Rokurou really hoped that he’d get to kill this one. 

He doubted it though; the mysterious malak had mentioned some sort of connection to Aifread, which meant that Eizen was going to want to talk to him. This was just the way they were beating him into submission, and he couldn’t help letting out a small growl in advance at his future disappointment.

“Ohh, you’re a feisty one,” the malak laughed at him, swinging out with his pendulum, which whistled past Rokurou’s ear as he dodged. And then he was having to wheel away from Eizen’s fist flying in towards him, an untypically clumsy, unfocused shot. 

Rokurou certainly hadn’t expected Eizen to join in this fight _against_ them; he could only think that the pirate wanted to defeat them all so that he could have the satisfaction of defeating the mysterious malak on his own. He was blazing with emotion, and Rokurou didn’t need his talents at reading people’s emotions to know that it all stemmed from his concern about his missing captain: Eizen was steeped in a mixture of responsibility and loss at the best of times. Interestingly, he could often detect a measure of guilt in Eizen’s voice when he spoke to Rokurou, but he couldn’t figure out why that should be.

As for Rokurou himself, he was doing his level best to avoid Eizen in this battle. As much as he wanted to fight him, that was something that had to be one-on-one, with no outside influences or factors, otherwise it wasn’t a true test of either of their skills. He wouldn’t get any satisfaction from beating Eizen with the help of anyone else.

Plus, he knew how he always reacted to unfinished battles, and he had enough confusing thoughts about Eizen going through his head without adding some sort of may-or-may-not-be-sexual frustration to the mix.

It was lucky that the valley they were in was quiet, even this close to the Empyrean’s Throne, given the pitched battle between daemons and malak that was occurring in it. The afternoon sun was beginning to lower, and Rokurou kept trying to position himself so that its rays would be in the malak’s eyes rather than his own. Not that it would bother him: his right eye could see in pretty much any condition, even through the bangs which hung over it. He doubted that the malak had the same advantage, though.

Rokurou just wanted this fight over and done with, as he went in for another attack. And then he wanted to help Eizen get his answers, once and for all.

***

Nothing. 

That was the sum total of what Eizen had gained from this encounter; absolutely nothing. 

He had watched the malak - Zaveid the Whirlwind, as he called himself - walk away as if he didn’t have a care in the world, after making clear that he knew Aifread in some capacity, and that he’d heard of Eizen himself. Was he connected to Aifread’s disappearance? Was he an ally who’d known the captain beforehand? Eizen was still none the wiser, because Zaveid had laughed off all his concerns as if they were nothing.

He’d even laughed off their plan to kill the Shepherd, as if such things didn’t concern him. He’d helped them to take down the barrier and immediately left, and Eizen hadn’t known whether to chase after him or not. 

Part of him had wanted to. Melchior might be his best shot of getting information, but it would be a hard task. His own words, spoken to Benwick, rang in his ears. The Abbey was up to something, and Eizen didn’t like it. 

Part of him knew that he couldn’t let this group go to face the Shepherd with one less man. They didn’t have nearly as much concern over the idea of confronting the Abbey as Eizen thought they should: Velvet was blinded by her rage, Rokurou by his honour, Laphicet by his innocence, and Magilou by her indifference.

He supposed that he was just as blind, bound by his loyalty to a group of daemons, malakhim and witches that he barely knew. He had chosen them over chasing Zaveid, finding Aifread. And he felt like his soul weighed even heavier than before.

“Hey, man.”

Eizen had walked off while the others had been discussing the encounter with Zaveid; he’d somehow known that it would be Rokurou who’d come to find him sitting here, perched on a block of abandoned masonry in the shadow of the Empyrean’s Throne. The vast temple complex, with its stairway which seemed to almost touch the heavens, was brand new. It was somehow comforting to know the construction of these blocks, lifted by the artes of tethered malakhim, had occasionally gone wrong. 

“Is it time for us to go?” He felt reluctant to stand. Feeling the stone beneath his hands, feeling contact with something drawn from the earth, felt comforting. It was stronger here too, energy from the earthpulse he’d detected flowing through the whole area. It was, he supposed, the closest a malak could ever come to the comforting presence of a parent.

“I don’t know. Probably? I just wanted to see if you were doin’ okay.”

“Honestly, no.” Eizen lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at the daemon standing by his side, his head slightly tilted to one side so that his black locks streamed down like a waterfall, his posture as easy and laid-back as always. It was a calmness that Eizen constantly envied.

He had some guilt nagging at him where Rokurou was concerned, too. During the battle, Eizen had constantly tried to engage him, attention that Rokurou had deliberately and effectively blocked. He didn’t even fully understand why, but he’d wanted to provoke Rokurou as much as he could - maybe it was purely because he liked to see him fight with abandon, see the freedom which recalled Eizen’s own creed. But he knew that it wasn’t; not really.

“You’re worrying that Zaveid had something to do with your captain disappearing, right?” Rokurou didn’t wait to be invited: he sat on the masonry block, drawing one foot up onto the stone so he could rest his arm on his knee.

“It was a chance,” Eizen murmured, so softly that he wasn’t sure if Rokurou would hear him. “He clearly knew Aifread, and knew that he’d disappeared - he took it all in his stride. So was he involved in whatever happened to him? Or does he just know where he is? Or does he know nothing, but not care?”

Rokurou was silent for a moment, as if considering, and Eizen remembered that the yaksha had incredibly sharp hearing. “Not that I know anything about anything, but Zaveid didn’t seem the evil villain type to me. Maybe he’s just looking for information too?”

Eizen contemplated it. “Aye, it’s possible, I suppose.”

“There’s nothing to say that you won’t run into him again; maybe he’ll be more willing to talk another time. And hey, there’s still Melchior. You might not even need any information that Zaveid has, if you get that bastard to talk.”

“I’ll hold judgement on that for now. That’s a tough ask.” Eizen studied his friend - the first person in a long while that he’d termed a friend, and relatively quickly too. As was his custom, Rokurou looked totally at ease, not a trace of trepidation or restlessness to be found on his face or in his amber eye; quite the contrast to the fierceness he’d worn in battle. “It’s not just that, either. I’m sorry for targeting you when we fought back there.”

Rokurou suddenly guffawed at that, sounding almost surprised. “Hell, don’t apologise for that! I’m not counting it as a proper fight, though.” He shot Eizen a grin which bordered on the feline. 

Eizen couldn’t help smirking in return. “Me neither - trust me, when we fight, you’re not going to be on the winning side. But for a moment… I don’t know. I think I just... resented being with you all.”

“Because we keep you from your search for Aifread.” He hadn’t expected Rokurou to understand it, but there it was. “I’m pretty sure that Velvet would be the first one to say that you’re not obligated to be with us. You should just, y’know, do what you need to do.”

“No. Like I said earlier, I walk with you all now. But it was still unfair of me.” Eizen met Rokurou’s gaze, wanting to be as honest as he could allow himself to be. “I spend the most time with you, out of everyone. Maybe in my mind… I was worried that you were replacing Aifread somehow, and that’s why you became my target. It’s stupid, I know,” he added hurriedly.

“Nah, I get it. It’s kinda understandable.” Rokurou’s hand moved to scratch absently where the hem of his kimono brushed against his neck. Eizen had half-expected him to reach in and bring out his ever-present bottle of sake; he could’ve used it right now. “But the way I see it is that you might have your information soon, if Melchior’s at this ceremony, and if we can get it out of him. And if he’s not there, and you don’t get it, you don’t. There’s nothing you can do about it; seems kind of unfair to torture yourself about it.”

Eizen stared down at the ground by his feet, at the blades of grass which grew strong and green, probably thanks to the earthpulse under their roots. Rokurou made it sound so simple - and in truth, it was. For the past year, he’d been consumed by Aifread’s disappearance, sinking into a pervasive despair which had taken every joy from his life, constantly feeling like he wasn’t doing enough to find him. But when it came down to it, there was no more he could do.

“You’re right.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, but also somehow freeing. “I won’t ever give up on him; I can’t. I’ll keep chasing down every lead I can, even if I have to sail to the other side of the world. But I can’t do any more than I already am. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again; he wouldn’t want me to be like this if that’s the case. I accused you of putting a collar around your own neck; I did the same thing to myself.”

Rokurou was quiet again, and Eizen could feel the daemon’s eyes on him. “You care for Aifread a lot, right?”

A slow intake of breath. He wasn’t sure if Rokurou was asking what he thought he was asking. “I did. But I need to remember that I have other responsibilities. To my crew, to Velvet and the rest of you; to Laphicet.”

Rokurou snickered. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure we’re the worst possible influences on that kid. It’s like being raised by an angry mom, two asshole older brothers, and a drunk aunt.”

Eizen laughed at that, feeling his head go back and his hair tickle his neck; it felt good to let it out. “That’s too perfect a description. I have other things to care about, and other things I should care about. What I’m saying is that I’m done with moping.”

Rokurou nodded, and Eizen saw that he looked pleased, or satisfied. _Happy_ was too much of a stretch, reserved for other beings, but clearly the yaksha was more content with what he saw reflected back at him. “Good.”

“And we’re still having that fight sometime,” Eizen reminded him.

Rokurou stood up, brushing his kimono down and shooting him a lazy grin. “Of course. If we survive killing the Shepherd, you can fight me anytime.”

And Eizen saw something in his expression which said that he really, really meant it.

***

As soon as Rokurou’s sandaled foot stepped through the threshold of the door, and onto one of the pale grey marble floor tiles of the main temple of the Empyrean’s Throne, he could feel the power surging through the place. It caused a thrill to go through his veins, spreading like a fever. 

Eizen and Laphicet had noticed the pull of the earthpulse located underneath the temple as soon as they’d set foot on the grounds, and it was so strong in here that even his worthless daemon hide could feel it pulling at him. That meant that their foes would be stronger, assuming that they had a means to tap into it.

It also meant that it was going to be one hell of a fight, and Rokurou couldn’t wait. As he spotted the figure of Artorius, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back turned to them, his bloodlust threatened to rush up like a dog hearing an intruder at the door. 

_No. I’ve got to stay clear-headed, in case_ he’s _here._ Rokurou couldn’t even say the name to himself, uncertain of what reaction it would have on him.

Artorius looked less-than-impressive from this distance - but it would’ve been hard for him to look anything else, dwarfed as they all were by the cavernous interior of the temple. Patterns, looking to be religious symbols of some type, whirled across the floor, and the soaring columns and sheer scale made the cathedral in Loegres look like a wooden shed. The far wall was dominated by a symbol etched into marble, and Artorius sat directly beneath it, as if he were communing with it somehow. But Rokurou wasn’t fooled: he’d seen enough of the man back at Loegres Castle. You didn’t get that good, or have that sort of balance and poise, and be stupid enough to leave yourself undefended.

Either he would attack them, or he would have people to take care of them for him. Either way, it was making Rokurou’s pulse quicken. 

_I might be about to see him, finally! About to see him, fight him, kill-_ He had to shake the thoughts away again, refusing to be distracted. He had a debt to repay to Velvet, first. Then, with honour assured, he could repay his own debts.

Velvet had her plan - a sacrificial assault, drawing Artorius on to her and letting him unleash his full attack on her, relying on Laphicet’s healing artes to keep her alive long enough to take him by surprise and kill him. He didn’t have his malak anymore; Velvet had eaten her back on Titania. If it went to plan, this was their one chance to kill the Shepherd in his den, get closure for Velvet before moving on to more personal matters. He had his… target… and Eizen had Melchior; there was plenty more fighting to be had before the day was done. He still had absolutely no idea what Magilou’s motivation was, but if it involved killing, he’d help her too.

“Artorius!” 

Velvet’s voice rang out into the vast space of the temple, echoing ominously off the sparse walls. She didn’t need to shout anything else, that was challenge enough - Artorius and his death were the only things on her mind.

The man didn’t answer straight away, as if he were judging them without even turning around. His back was relaxed, his manner unhurried, and it added weight to Rokurou’s first assessment of his prowess.

“A daemon and malakhim. Unlikely companions to say the least.”

_He knows what I am - what all of us are - without looking at us,_ Rokurou realised, and his wariness began to overtake his bloodlust. Artorius had spoken only to Velvet, as though the rest of them were unworthy of his notice.

“Seres is here too. In my stomach.”

“So you chose to be a mother bird, Seres.” Artorius said the words so quietly that even Rokurou could barely hear them; he didn’t know if the others would’ve caught them - Magilou, as a human, certainly wouldn’t.

The swordsman suddenly stood and turned, and it was enough movement for all of them to instinctively go on guard. Rokurou had his daggers in his hands before he could even think of it; he was aware that his companions had done much the same. Confrontation was inevitable now, as it always had been, and his pulse decided to go up another notch in readiness for battle, thrumming in his ears like a war drum.

_Keep your eyes open. He won’t fight five of us alone. Artorius needs backup; he’s here somewhere-_

“Things will be different this time!” Velvet shot back, her fists clenched so tightly that her arms trembled. “I will have my revenge… revenge for Laphicet!”

The boy malak at her side made a startled noise, as if both the nature of Velvet’s revenge and the origin of his own name had suddenly become clear to him. 

Artorius simply reacted by stabbing the scabbard of his sword into the ground - and Rokurou realised that with his damaged right arm, he couldn’t even draw his own sword in the normal manner. He didn’t have to though; the tiled floor kept the scabbard steady as he pulled a length of sharp, shining metal free. It slashed through the air, as cleanly and as crisp as a winter’s morning.

“Very well. It is time!” And the man charged them, as agile and powerful as a man half his age.

Rokurou rushed to meet him, only slightly behind Velvet, and his yaksha senses coolly assessed as his breath deepened and his sandals dashed across the tiles. 

_Hair whitening, lines on face; older human. Lack of emotion in eyes: logical, rational, sparse fighter. Right arm injured: possible vulnerability on that side. White Abbey cloak over shoulders: possible impediment. Wait for Velvet to attack, surprise strike on right side-_

His thoughts were interrupted as Artorius’s sword parried Velvet’s, knocking the blade away, then fending off Rokurou’s daggers on the backswing to the extent that they were nearly wrenched out of his hands. He’d done it with minimal effort, almost without blinking.

_Shit._

“Boy howdy, are we dead!” he heard Magilou chirping somewhere behind him, and with a start, he realised that his calm, daemonic assessment couldn’t disagree.

_Fight harder, Rokurou!_ The mocking voice, dredged up from his memories, was too close to the edge; suddenly maddened, Rokurou roared back into battle. He slashed at Artorius, dodging the swinging blade to deliver more strikes, excited to see that some of them drew blood. He was yelling with an anger that was aimed at someone else, someone who hadn’t made an appearance yet, but it loaned him a focus and drive: he didn’t feel most of the minor gashes that Artorius was managing to open up on his own arms and chest. All that mattered was beating him, wearing him down so that Velvet could carry out her attack: the pain was to be endured.

Eizen was alongside him, having obviously decided that close-range was the key to defeating Artorius, seemingly throwing the entirety of his body weight into his punches. Rokurou could see the malak’s savage glare, looking as ferocious as the dragon that had attacked them earlier, his teeth clenched. Artorius took a blow to the face from Eizen’s fists, defensively sweeping his sword in an arc and inflicting deep cuts on both Eizen and Velvet, and Rokurou howled with rage. He leapt in and delivered another vicious blow, deliberately stabbing deep into Artorius’s injured arm, dancing away before the metal of the sword could find him. 

He was _alive_ , and Eizen was by his side, and they would kill Artorius together, and they would bathe in his blood, drink it in together, and they would-

Then Rokurou stopped, brought short, bloodlust fading and his wounds suddenly hurting, at the sight of Velvet falling to the floor, blood pouring from multiple gashes. She was badly hurt; Laphicet immediately ran to her side to heal her, ignoring the swordsman who stood over both of them.

“This isn’t over!” She was back on her feet with remarkable speed, charging back towards her enemy, and Rokurou had to marvel again at the woman’s courage. She would not be deterred: she swung for Artorius with her blade, aimed kicks at his head, clawed for his eyes - and each time, he evaded it as calmly as a teacher training his student. Sometimes it was only by a whisker, but it was utterly effortless, as much as if he’d seen each attack coming in advance. But Rokurou still thought she could do it, if she could just catch him unaware-

With a sickening noise, Velvet was impaled on Artorius’s sword; he did it so simply, so easily, that for a moment it seemed unreal. She had been run all the way through, bloodied steel protruding way too far out of her back, and she gurgled like a fish skewered on a stick. 

It was almost exactly the same as a scene that Rokurou had witnessed with his own eyes, a long time ago, on the eve of his sixteenth birthday. A woman run through with a sword, a death that had been made completely meaningless by the actions taken after it, and he was so shaken for a moment that he couldn’t move, could only stare, his grip on his daggers loosening.

Velvet spoke, blood coursing down her chin, her words bubbling with it. “Once more, Laphicet!”

It was her plan; the only way she could get close to Artorius and disable the use of his sword, by sacrificing her own body to get close. 

_It could work_ , Rokurou realised, his blood pounding in his ears at the thought of it, at what it could mean for him. _That strategy could actually work._

Laphicet ran forward again, almost flinging his mana at her, and once more Velvet’s shredded body was re-energised even as a length of steel ran through it. She visibly gathered her strength, turning her face upwards to spit her words directly into Artorius’s face.

“The fourth maxim!” 

She aimed her blade at Artorius, but he saw it, too quickly, too easily. With a quick, brutal motion he pulled his sword back out of Velvet, the metal sliding free with a nauseating slurp, and leapt backward before her strike could hit home. With the fresh wound, and no longer having the sword to hold her up, she slumped to the floor.

_That was our chance. We’re dead._ Rokurou’s assessment of the battle concluded, frenzy shrinking away to be replaced with a primal sense of being trapped, hunted. He looked over to Eizen, and saw that the malak was looking back at him with an anguished grimace: he’d come to the same conclusion.

Artorius gazed dispassionately at Velvet and Laphicet before him. “Hmph. ‘Never let your guard down, even when victorious’? I will not let you win so easily. I will use my full strength, as is just and proper.” He thrust his sword up into the air, and Rokurou was suddenly conscious that he didn’t just intend to kill them: he intended to exterminate them like the scum they were. “Aid me, Innominat!”

A burst of mana appeared around the sword, blindingly light, swirling around the blade and traveling down until it met its wielder. It enveloped Artorius, and when Rokurou could see again, he realised that the man was healed. Completely. As if he’d never been injured.

“His wounds have vanished!” he cried out in disbelief, hearing Eizen draw a ragged breath of shock at his side.

“Such power… is it really…?”

_A god. He really does have a god at his command. We are sooooo very dead._

Magilou looked outraged. “That is _cheating!”_

Laphicet was still pouring his healing artes into Velvet; they were both looking up at the swirling light as if it were communicating with them, as if it were a being… as if it were Innominat…

“Wh-Why do… I…?” Laphicet was transfixed, hypnotised, but the fear in his voice was palpable. Velvet, on the other hand, glared up as if she wanted to choke the life out of a god with her bare hands.

“I remember you… that night… that terrible night!”

Apparently, gods didn’t take kindly to threats.

The light flared, and for the second time that day, Rokurou found himself airborne, blasted backward by the sheer force of the shockwave emanating from Innominat. He didn’t know where he was; didn’t know where Eizen or Magilou were, didn’t know where Velvet or Laphicet were, or how long he’d been in the air. He didn’t know anything, until he crashed to the floor, landing with a blow that completely knocked the air from his lungs. Rokurou opened his eyes slowly, dizzily, to see that his companions were similarly sprawled around him and in various stages of regaining their senses.

“More… more healing…”

That was Velvet; he shook his head to try to clear his vision, and saw Laphicet turn his healing artes on her once again; he was all that was keeping her alive. It was amazing that the fall hadn’t killed her - they were almost back at the doorway, at the other end of the vast temple. They had to get up: if they all didn’t get up right now, then they had no chance, and Rokurou began the slow, painful process of getting back on his feet. He would pull Eizen up too, if the malak wasn’t already on his feet.

“You won’t escape this time!” 

That was a new voice. Rokurou whirled dizzily around, and saw a blob of white standing in front of the door: blinking a few times made it coalesce into four people - and his stomach sank as he realised that every single one of them was at least a praetor of the Abbey. Teresa, the exorcist they’d fought at Hellawes and stolen Laphicet from, was closest to them and looking absolutely furious: the blonde young man next to her had to be Oscar Dragonia, her half-brother. Standing just behind him was an ancient-looking portly man, with the green sash of a legate, and next to him, wearing a blue jacket over her Abbey dress, was the red-headed exorcist they just couldn’t shake off, her expression verging on triumphant. 

_Where is he?_ A surge of anger shot through Rokurou at the sight of them, and in his battered condition, it almost made him stagger. _Where is he!_

Oscar stepped forward, the bandage still around his eye where he’d been injured by Velvet in Titania’s prison. He saluted his Shepherd, but there was no tension in his bearing; this wasn’t the preamble to a fight, but merely invitees arriving to watch an execution.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Artorius. I had assumed Master Shigure was attending you. The failure is mine.”

Rokurou let loose a vicious snarl before he could help himself, knew that Eizen turned to him in surprise, didn’t care.

Artorius’s voice was completely calm, as if he hadn’t broken a sweat, and as if there weren’t five people set on killing him in the room. “Shigure is out training. Besides, that man would like to see my blood spilled more than anyone.”

“Same as ever,” Rokurou spat bitterly.

“Bah. He only thinks of himself.” The old man carried on the conversation, similarly uncaring about the little group in front of him, as if they were injured animals about to be put out of their misery. “Look what happened with Aifread.”

That had Eizen reacting immediately. “So _you’re_ Melchior!”

“No, Artorius.” Velvet lurched forward, tiny steps all that her abused frame could muster. “The one who most wants to spill your blood… is _me!”_ She screamed the words at him, the only act of defiance she could still manage.

“Master Artorius. Allow me to quiet this daemon.” Teresa stepped in front of her, and Rokurou could see that she was ready to carry out any order of execution that Artorius felt inclined to give her. She even summoned her last remaining malak, a blank-faced boy with silver hair, who looked at the approaching Velvet with utter indifference.

“Out of my way!” This was too much for Velvet to take: she charged, until a flurry of icicles summoned by Teresa took her down again.

“Learn your place, you abominable daemon!” the woman yelled, anger suddenly blazing from such a saintly-looking praetor, and Rokurou realised that this was finally it. They were surrounded now; Velvet didn’t have much left in her - none of them did. They would be killed on the spot.

No, more likely that they would be taken prisoner, questioned to find out what they knew and who they were, tortured for information. And if he didn’t die under their tender ministrations, they would discover who his family were, and chain him up somewhere deep in the earth where the embarrassing news of Legate Shigure’s daemon brother would never be heard. 

Shigure would come to witness him with his own eyes, though. And he would laugh.

_No!_ Rokurou felt something troubling him, as if there were a gap where something - some emotion - used to be, suddenly aching; it redirected into a rage instead. _I’ll drive my dagger into my own abdomen before they can take me! I’ll rip out Artorius’s throat with my teeth so they kill me!_

Laphicet ran to Velvet, healing her again. She looked up at him, and Rokurou could hear them even though their voices were hushed.

“I’m not… finished…” She wheezed; her pain was so obvious, so overwhelming.

“Why? Doesn’t it hurt? Aren’t you in pain?” The boy looked frightened, confused. “Why, Velvet? Why do you go on fighting?”

“Because… Laphicet knew so much more pain than I ever will… and still, I… I couldn’t do anything for him…” She was dying, her eyes already starting to drift shut, but she managed to take the malak’s hand. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

It was piteous, and although Rokurou couldn’t feel anything, he could still summon up enough empathy to know what she was going through, and what Laphicet was experiencing. Even as an emotionless daemon, a yaksha who delighted in death, he could understand the depth of their feeling. But there was the human Teresa, looking at them as if she couldn’t possibly understand, as if the living beings in front of her were mere puppets acting out a scene with words placed in their mouths. 

“Colluding with daemons…” Her dainty little nose turned up in revulsion. “Number Two, your punishment must be severe. Kill the daemon. Then, end your own life.”

There it was again, the casual disregard for their lives. They weren’t even considered alive at all. Rokurou glanced at Eizen again, and for a brief moment, wondered if he should cut the malak’s throat for him. Better to see him die that way, before he turned his daggers to his own belly.

Laphicet looked up at her, tears beading his eyes, before he shook his golden head fiercely. 

“No.”

Teresa looked affronted. “Have you forgotten our pact? Your mistress is giving you an order!” 

She held out her hand, and suddenly the arte which bound Laphicet to Teresa was visible for all to see, tightening around the boy and making him cry out in pain. Eizen started as if he wanted to go to him, but they both knew it would be of no use. 

“I’m… sick of your orders!”

Rokurou looked up, startled, as the symbol on the wall which Artorius had been seemingly communing lit up, ablaze with light, as if the lines of its pattern were suddenly traced with liquid gold. Artorius spun around too, in uncharacteristic surprise.

“That aura!”

_“I don’t want Velvet to die!”_ Laphicet screamed, and the arte surrounding his, binding him, simply blew up. The shockwave tossed Teresa away, just as Innominat’s power had done to them, and all hell broke loose.

Oscar cried out and ran to his sister’s crumpled body, just as Laphicet blazed with light, radiance building to a point above his head. The red-headed exorcist dashed towards them, crying something, as Artorius shielded his eyes from the light. Then the point of light opened wide, a circular portal of golden light - a _portal_ \- even as Laphicet fell to the ground unconscious.

Rokurou and Eizen were already running.

“Rokurou! Into the portal!” The malak reached Velvet first, supporting her in his arms, as Rokurou scooped up Laphicet’s unresponding body.

“Right!” Ignoring Magilou’s protestations, blocking out everything else that was going on around him, Rokurou dived into the light-

-and he felt like he was falling through the fabric of the universe, at a speed too great to calculate, unsure of whether he was tumbling up, or down, or sideways. Fear would’ve overwhelmed him if he had been able to remember what fear was, as pressure built in his head, and darkness started to overpower his senses. The last sensation he remembered was Laphicet slipping from his loosening grasp, before he was lost to unconsciousness.

***

It had, Eizen surmised, been quite the day.

He was surrounded by the sleeping forms of his companions, listening to their light breaths and Bienfu’s tiny snores - as well as the steady breaths of an exorcist who was pretending that she was asleep. The main thing was that they were all somehow alive: just a few hours ago, if someone had told Eizen that he would end the day sitting peacefully on the floor of an ancient ruin, he would’ve laughed in their face. 

They’d stared death in the face today - Eizen had absolutely no illusions about that. Artorius and the other Abbey praetors could’ve snuffed out their little lives with barely more than a wave of their hands. He’d had no possibility of getting information from Melchior; the very idea of it seemed ridiculous now.

Yet for some reason, Eizen felt more untroubled than he had in quite some time.

Perhaps part of it was being here, in an underground temple built by ancient humans, devoted to worshipping one of their gods - the Empyrean of Earth. He was quite literally in his element here, the lovingly-crafted stone tiled floors and carvings depicting Eumacia giving him a feeling like a warm embrace. It certainly hadn’t been built for comfort, though. The fact that human, daemon, and malakhim alike were managing to sleep on the bare stone was testament to how much strain they’d been put through.

After they’d escaped through the portal, he’d awoken in the earthpulse itself, alone, but not frightened. His only fear had been for the lives of his companions, none of whom had been visible to him, but he’d been fascinated by the sights surrounding him. The others - well, with the exception of Rokurou - would’ve been fearful at the bare, rocky ground which was seemingly suspended in the middle of an emerald-green flow of energy, streams of mana bursting forth from it.

For Eizen, however, it had been like returning home. The energies which had created him, essentially giving birth to both him and Edna, had flowed from here. Velvet, Rokurou and Magilou had all started their lives nestled in their mothers’ bellies; this was the equivalent for him, and he had rarely felt such a feeling of protection. The wounds he’d picked up in battle were healed.

Real life, and all the predicaments which came with it, had only intruded once he’d come across Velvet, carrying Laphicet’s body. The boy was being assaulted by malevolence, sparks of it flying off his form in a manner which would’ve caused him pain if he’d been conscious. Eizen had felt fear then, even if he’d managed to swallow it down: both at what might happen to Laphicet, and the disappearance of Rokurou, who’d carried the malak through the portal. He’d had to put it aside in order to explain the situation to Velvet, that Innominat’s powers had somehow clashed with Laphicet’s, bringing them here. But now the boy was at risk of becoming a daemon, due to his being severed from Teresa, his vessel - something Velvet had reacted to with horror.

Things hadn’t gotten any less complicated when the exorcist, Eleanor, had found them and volunteered to be Laphicet’s new vessel. They hadn’t even been aware of the redhead following them through the portal. Eizen didn’t trust her, had known for certain that Velvet didn’t either, but saving Laphicet from becoming a daemon had been more important. There was no other way home, after all. But more than that, Eizen could see the fear in Velvet’s eyes at the mere thought of the boy becoming a daemon, as if there were nothing worse in the world.

For his own selfish sake, and on some levels that even he couldn’t fathom, it had put a feeling of distress into Eizen’s stomach.

The deal, and the ritual, had been done. Laphicet had recovered enough to open a portal to send them home, and Eizen had been both delighted to see that Rokurou and Magilou were alive in this underground temple, and disturbed to see that Laphicet had disappeared. They’d ventured outside to see Eleanor waiting there, as good as her word, determined to duel Velvet for control of her own destiny. Eizen had been able to respect that. 

That respect had come from Aifread and his creed, he concluded, as he watched Eleanor try not to move a muscle - she was undoubtedly aware that he was awake. She had lost her duel with Velvet - of course she had - and was now bound to this group by the power of her oath. But she’d attempted to betray them within hours, a little conversation with Artorius via an arte, which she had no idea had been witnessed by Velvet and himself. Even under the bonds of her oath, and her word, she’d fought to steer her own ship and do what she wanted to do. 

Eizen understood now that the spectre of Aifread’s disappearance was one that would haunt him forever, until his captain was found. That was his responsibility, after all. A pirate crew never left a man behind, even if the situation was hopeless. His desire to find Aifread was undimmed, despite the setbacks. There would always be information, new leads - maybe, eventually, a way to get the information from Melchior himself.

But something else had changed, there in the shadow of the Empyrean’s Throne. Something within Eizen, which had been there for a long time.

_There’s nothing you can do about it; seems kind of unfair to torture yourself about it._ Rokurou’s words had been audaciously simple, to the extent that it would’ve been easy to categorize it as the daemon’s occasional indifference. But it was a simple truth.

Aifread had been aware of how Eizen had felt about him. They’d spent a lot of time together, after all, the bond between captain and first mate as close as any. Maybe there had been a gaze which had been too soulful, a touch which had lingered too long. Eizen didn’t know how Aifread had known, but sometimes he would see the knowledge in the man’s dark amber eyes. And it had always been followed up by sadness.

Eizen didn’t know why Aifread couldn’t return it, had never returned it. Perhaps he simply wasn’t attracted to men. Maybe it had been a reluctance to cross the boundary, the sacred bond between the captain of a ship and his subordinate. But he had said nothing, and allowed their lives to carry on as before. At first Eizen had been grateful, unsure of his own feelings and attempting to bury them as deeply as he could, lest his fragile, emotional heart be bruised by rejection. Over time, however, the bruising had occurred nonetheless.

Today, Eizen had realized that there was nothing he could do about it, and that it was unfair to torture himself over it. He had tormented himself with feelings for a man who could not, or would not return them, and a love that had never existed. While his desire to find Aifread was undiminished, it was time to set his own heart free from his desire for Aifread.

It was a weight off his shoulders, and his heart felt lighter. Between that and the trip to the earthpulse, Eizen felt as though he had been healed. He’d even tried to teach Rokurou something about the history of this temple, feeling the passion he had for history flow out of him as it had done before he’d fallen into his melancholy - even if it had hit a brick wall in the shape of a glazed-over, one-track-minded swordsman. But Velvet had accused him of enjoying himself, and he’d had to admit that she’d been right.

Plus he’d caught Rokurou later, before they’d settled down for the night, thinking he was alone and gazing up at the columns of the temple. Eizen had watched him from his vantage point, the daemon’s lips parting as he’d craned his neck to look at the exquisite carved ceilings and walls, the devoted craft of ancient humans who may have been his ancestors.

That had made Eizen smile. He’d smiled many times since he’d been with this group, more than he had in the entirety of the past year. Even though their task was quite possibly impossible, although there would undoubtedly be blood spilt, pain felt, and countless occasions when both Magilou and Bienfu would annoy the life out of him, Eizen was alive again, and he would smile.

They had a direction again, a point to navigate to. Magilou’s friend in Southgand. A lead to be followed, a course to steer, and maybe a step closer to finding Aifread - Eizen’s captain, and friend.

The malak closed his eyes, mindful that he should rest. And he wondered if next time, his curse would be merciful enough to let him have feelings for someone who could love him back, as freely and fully as Eizen would. 

He couldn’t put himself through that kind of pain again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time! A very special episode brought to you by the letters S, H, I, G, U, R, and E! 
> 
> Also, Eizen realizes the terrible truth.


	4. Don't Let The Daemons Bite

The winds which swirled around the craggy peaks of the Brigid Ravine chilled the bare skin of Rokurou’s back, snatching away the warmth of the sun which beat down upon him. He didn’t notice either warmth nor chill: partly because of his thick, dark, daemon blood and its extreme tolerance of temperature, and partly because his entire focus was on the end of a wooden staff.

If his mind had been open to any other sort of stimulus, he might’ve noted the rough crudeness of it - after all, he’d unceremoniously hacked it from a straggling bush about half an hour ago. Instead, both of his eyes were locked on the very tip, as he held it in both hands, out at arm’s length.

It didn’t move, not even slightly. Good.

“Sei!”

Applying controlled force with his hands, pushing in different directions with a slight emphasis on his left hand, caused the staff to slash downwards; he followed it, easily flowing in the same direction, applying more pressure to swing the staff outwards, upwards, wherever he desired. He could maintain perfect focus easily - these were forms and exercises that he’d completed for almost every day of his life. It was as familiar as breathing, and all he saw, right up until the moment he completed the form, was the end of the staff.

_“Sei!”_

The cry allowed him to expel the breath and tension that had built up within him during the move; as soon as it was done, the world started flooding back to him again. Awareness of his own body always came back to him first - the bulkiness around his thin waist where the top half of his kimono had collected, and the tickling of his shaggy ponytail against his bare back. His breathing was calm, untroubled, and regulated.

The rest came into focus after that: the wild slopes and nerve-shredding drops of the ravine, and the other people resting just a small distance away. The little band of people he was bound to, though that was totally cool with him. Though he wasn’t quite sure about Eleanor, the exorcist, yet. Velvet and Eizen had told him about catching her having a conversation with Artorius via a communications arte, which seemed rather dishonest to him, especially after she’d sworn an oath to Velvet.

_You don’t have to like someone to honour and respect your oath to them_ , he thought, swinging the staff almost absently. _Hell, my clan is proof of that._

Although, Eleanor had informed them that the Abbey’s goal was the end of the Era of Disaster, and to slaughter every daemon who dared to set foot on Midgand soil. He didn’t have a problem with that - what did he care if other daemons died? - as long as they intended to do it through good, martial methods. 

_They can throw soldiers at me all they want!_ The swinging of the staff quickened, as a tingling thrill went through him at the thought. _Let them try to take me down; I’ll kill them all. It’s been too long since I killed anything._

Rokurou glanced over at the little group again, blood still pumping rapidly - and noticed something interesting. There was Velvet, sitting slightly to one side, watching jealously as Laphicet and Eleanor conversed, the boy picking buttercups and chatting happily. The exorcist seemed less at ease, most likely aware of the glares being burnt into her back, and of Magilou who was observing the whole scene with that enigmatic smile on her face. And Eizen…

… was nowhere to be seen.

Rokurou smiled to himself, trying not to let his lips curl over his teeth, attempting to seem preoccupied with his staff. He swung it back and forth as if consumed by thought, keeping to small, simple forms that he’d picked up when he was still a toddler. But all the time, he was listening, sensing, trying to pick up what was on the wind. It made him feel like he was both hunter and hunted, and the very thought of that made him almost feverish with a desire for… something he couldn’t distinguish anymore. It didn’t bother him though; it was enough to feel the singing of blood in his veins.

_There._

At the tiniest noise, Rokurou immediately swung the staff around in a wide circle, as fast as he would if he were fighting for his life - and couldn’t help a wicked grin as the tip came to a dead stop just inches from Eizen’s face. To his credit, the malak didn’t flinch, a disgruntled look which said _Really?_ plastered all over his face. 

“Is this how pirates fight? They sneak up on people? What were you going to do, pull my hair?” Rokurou could never resist making a jab at Eizen, partly because it was just in his nature, and partly because Eizen took the business of being a pirate so very seriously. 

_Like, the guy dressed up a dead monkey, and he wants me to believe it’s so deadly serious?_

“Aye, I was going to cut it all off, and make a dolly for the next child we see.” Eizen’s mouth couldn’t help a smirk. “Or give it to the exorcist.”

“Pretty sure she’d only accept it with my head still attached.” Rokurou lowered the staff, and returned Eizen’s grin, noticing that the malak was pointedly not looking at his chest. He still wasn’t sure what that was all about.

“Hmm; that can be arranged.”

Eizen had changed in the last twenty-four hours, in ways that Rokurou wouldn’t have predicted if he’d been given a notebook, a quill, and a thousand years. His shoulders had un-hunched, like he’d suddenly relaxed fully into his new situation, and new company. He didn’t seem to be brooding on anything. He’d even displayed more of a sense of humour than he had in all of the time since he’d joined up with them; previously, it had been like he was attempting to force a laugh through gritted teeth.

The change itself was unpredicted, but Rokurou was pretty certain he knew the reason for it. Eizen’s heart was just… lighter. It was obvious in every word he spoke: cares and worry still there, but an all-encompassing guilt had been eroded away. It had to be due to his emotions for his captain Aifread. Every time Rokurou had brought up the man in conversation, Eizen had almost shrunk away from it, as if the mere mention of Aifread’s name had been painful. But more than the pain of the disappearance, there had been guilt and yearning in his voice, a sense of missed opportunities and heartbreak. That seemed to be much reduced now.

Even when Laphicet had innocently asked them both about women, and their appearances being deceiving, Eizen had been able to allude to past relationships without any of those feelings for Aifread clouding his emotions - Rokurou was pretty certain that he wouldn’t have been able to do that before yesterday. Even the merest talk of relationships would’ve had the malak’s emotions overwhelm him, like a wave crashing over his beloved ship. Something had changed in the past day, and allowed him to come to terms with whatever had been bothering him.

_Maybe he’s just over relationships; he certainly sounds pretty done with women,_ Rokurou mused. Personally, he’d never been picky when it came to genders, either as a human or a daemon. But maybe the malak had just reached a place where he didn’t want to chase romantic affairs anymore; Rokurou could understand that. He didn’t even remember what they felt like, after all - truthfully, didn’t really understand the whole concept.

Though it didn’t stop that weird feeling in his lower belly every now and then; he still hadn’t worked that one out either.

“I saw you talking to Eleanor and the boy about your training.” Eizen’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Rokurou’s grin widened a little.

“Yeah. Our little exorcist was getting on her high horse about me being a yaksha, like there was something I could do about it.” He decided that was enough training for today, and flung the rough staff over the edge of the ravine. Hopefully there was no-one hiking on the lower slopes; oh well. “I told her that fighting and killing is all that I live for, and she didn’t seem to take it too well. She’s got less luck than you if she wants me to feel bad about it!”

“That’s really what living means to you?” Eizen had picked up both his body armour and greatsword from where Rokurou had stored them on the ground, and he gratefully accepted both at the malak’s approach, even though he didn’t really like people touching his sword. There was no judgement in Eizen’s voice, just interest.

“It is. That’s all it’s ever meant.” Rokurou shrugged, sliding his armour on and pulling his kimono up from his waist. “Guess that’s why I became a yaksha, and not a… something else.”

_A therion, like Velvet,_ he’d almost said, but that was her story to tell: if she didn’t want to tell the others, then he was honour-bound not to either. Plus, he didn’t know what the hell a therion was, anyway. 

“So that’s why you’re training halfway up a mountain - you want to fight and kill this Swordbreaker.”

_The Swordbreaker._ Rokurou had heard the name for the first time less than an hour ago, but that didn’t stop his blood pumping anew, his breath quickening, and his pupils dilating at the mere thought. The bandit they’d gotten the information from - and how much he’d wanted to gut that wretch, after all the kills he’d been denied in the past couple of days, and unfinished battles he’d taken part in - had seen his enthusiasm, had taken steps backward in fear. But the information had been more useful than the kill, he supposed: that there was a daemon wielding a foreign sword, deliberately breaking the blades of others.

_It can’t be… but what if it is?_

He felt like there were other feelings that he should’ve been experiencing, things that were tickling his very earliest memories, but all of it was drowning under frustrated, unsatisfied bloodlust. He forced it back down again, hoping that Eizen hadn’t noticed.

_I really need to kill something._

“Of course!” His voice sounded as airy as usual, something he didn’t even have to pretend at. That was just how he was. “I can’t resist the challenge of a daemon who roams the land, breaking swords. I mean, that’s just _made_ for me.”

He didn’t mention the blade from another land that the daemon carried, or why that particularly caught his interest. 

“Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?” 

There was something sly in Eizen’s tone, and it made Rokurou look up sharply from making the final adjustments to his kimono, aware that there was a little bit of fire in his eyes. Eizen stood there, arms folded, a look of total innocence on his face. 

“What are you saying, dude?”

Eizen shut his eyes and smiled, brown leather gloves pressing against his own arm with the slightest degree of tension. Nervous excitement. “I’ve just noticed that you like to push yourself as much as possible, whether it’s in training or in battle, like you’re always seeking to improve yourself.”

“Sure. I do want to improve my fighting skills, and sword technique. That’s nothing new.” Rokurou felt like squinting at Eizen, as if that would better help him perceive what the pirate was driving at. 

“You always stop just short of pushing yourself to your limit, though.” Eizen opened his eyes, exposing those perfectly sea-blue orbs. “Are you worried about losing control of yourself again?”

_So that’s what he’s getting at. Thought we’d cleared this up on the ship._ Rokurou felt something prickle at him, but it was indistinct and fleeting. 

“Nah. I can keep myself under control; it’s fine. If you’re still worrying about Vortigern, it was just something that exorcist said - kind of pissed me off.” Rokurou eyed the malak; his smooth expression didn’t change. “Besides, keeping yourself controlled and balanced is part of sword fighting. No swordsman would get far if they lost their head all the time.”

“Figuratively speaking,” Eizen added. He still had a kind of restrained keenness in his countenance, something that made him just a little sharper than usual. “What happens if you get pushed to your limit?”

Rokurou considered that, and had to admit to himself that he really wasn’t sure. There’d been a few times during his human life when he’d been pushed past his limit - and shamefully, it had usually ended in him losing his temper. He’d been much too emotional as a human, and there had been too many times in his training sessions with Shigure that had brought out the worst in him. As a Rangetsu, he had been expected to take defeat gracefully, to pick himself up, bow, and continue on to the next round. As a hotheaded human boy, who had been systematically humiliated by an older brother, he’d occasionally found that hard to follow.

Mostly, he’d just thrown himself back into battle with a savage fierceness, until his inevitable defeat both knocked the anger out of him, and knocked him bloodied to the ground. A couple of times, he’d disrespected Shigure by not bowing to him in respect at the end of the bout: a deliberate insult. And once, he’d spat in Shigure’s face. That had resulted in a beating which had almost killed him, and he’d woken up hours later to the sight of his mother looming over his sickbed, coldly telling him that he fully deserved it. 

As a daemon, however… he wasn’t sure that he’d been pushed past the limit of his control yet. Maybe on the night he’d been taken by the daemonblight whilst shivering in his prison cell, when he’d ripped his two cellmates apart. Pain, and newfound desires for blood and carnage, had driven him there. 

The only thing that had come close since was the exorcist in Vortigern, and his mention of Shigure. Just a mention.

“I don’t know,” he concluded aloud, meeting Eizen’s gaze, even though the wind threatened to push his hair over both of his eyes. “Almost sounds like you want to find out, though.”

Eizen held out his gloved hands, seemingly happy to admit it. “I’m professionally curious, call it that. For a yaksha who lives for battle, it seems a shame not to know how far you can go. I’d like to see how I measure up against it.”

Rokurou’s eyes gleamed; unless he was misinterpreting it, Eizen’s words were a challenge. Practically an invitation. 

“Want to fight?” He said the words a little too quickly, too eagerly. Images of himself and Eizen rolled around in his head, of them fighting flat-out, of Eizen’s quick hands, of him biting and drawing blood… if malakhim had blood.

He could tell that Eizen was considering it, but eventually the pirate shook his blonde head. 

“No. This isn’t the best environment; one lapse in concentration, and we’d both be off the side of a ravine, especially with my curse.” He met Rokurou’s eyes again. “But another time.”

“Okay.” Rokurou swallowed his disappointment, forcing the battle readiness to dissolve from his muscles. Frustration again.

But a promise, too.

***  
An inscription on the blade of a sword: nothing flamboyant in size or script, but visible to Rokurou’s keen daemon eyes. It had been delicately carved into the metal, truly the work of a master blacksmith to produce a script so fine, and written in a language that, Rokurou was fairly certain, he was the only one of their group able to read.

It was a language that he’d had to learn alongside his brothers, painting intricate characters under the watchful eye of their mother, who’d scolded them at the slightest mistake. It was the language of their ancestor, and they would respect it.

It was the same language engraved into his brother’s greatsword, and into his own.

It said _‘Stormquell’._

And it was being wielded by a daemon the likes of which he’d never seen before, a being with gleaming purple eyes, who seemed to be formed from a lumpy, molten-looking metal, wearing ceremonial armour.

“That sword… is that Stormquell?” He’d said the words before he’d realized, but Rokurou didn’t know if the others had heard him - didn’t really care. His entire focus was on the sword itself: it curved dangerously, with a red-black tint which spoke of it being forged from a material he wasn’t familiar with.

_Is that really Stormquell? Is that the sword which could defeat Stormhowl?_

One thing became crystal clear to him, in the middle of all this chaos: he wanted that sword. Badly. But he needed to earn the right to wield it.

“A daemon wielding a foreign-made sword… you must be the Swordbreaker.” Velvet’s voice shook Rokurou from his reverie, and he re-focused. If his instincts were right, born from almost-imperceptible shifts in the air and the creature’s movement, then the daemon was about to-

The daemon charged, and Rokurou happily threw himself into the fray. 

The Swordbreaker was a very different prospect from the usual petty daemons they faced; Rokurou could tell that this was an ancient being, with all the battle experience that suggested. For all of the daemon’s bulkiness of form, his sword sang as true as Rokurou’s own - well, almost - and he shrugged off some of their attacks as if they were nothing. Velvet’s kicks, with the added effect of the hidden blade in her boot, seemed to be little more than an annoyance, and Eizen had abandoned throwing malak artes at him, taking a risk on getting up close and personal. Eleanor was attempting to give a fair account of herself in her first battle with them, whilst Magilou and Laphicet did their best with largely ineffective artes.

Also, Rokurou had the distinct impression that the Swordbreaker was targeting him in particular, with those glowing purple eyes never leaving the blade he wore on his back. 

_If he wants to fight against my Stormhowl, he’s gonna be disappointed,_ he thought, a bitter taste flooding his throat. _But he can get fully acquainted with my daggers instead!_

Rokurou dashed in and unleashed a flurry of blows upon the daemon’s metallic hide, being sure to keep an eye on the greatsword which swung towards him, darting out of its range when he needed. It seemed to be the best strategy against such a cumbersome foe, and he noticed that Velvet was starting to follow suit. Fighting against something so physically tough and solid was hard work: every time Rokurou struck the daemon with his daggers, it caused unpleasant reverberations to go right to the bones in his arms, traveling up into his shoulders. 

“Strike together!” he cried out; he didn’t usually prefer to take the lead in a battle - if he was honest, he preferred to do his own thing, and strike where he thought it most necessary to do so - but this was going to take some coordination. He danced out of the way of the giant blade again, breathing hard, glancing over to Velvet and Eizen and seeing that they were ready.

_“Now!”_ Velvet yelled as she dived past the daemon’s guard, and Rokurou followed suit, trusting that Eizen and Eleanor would do the same even as Magilou and Laphicet unleashed a barrage of artes. The swirling beams of mana were almost blindingly bright, and Rokurou put all his effort into attacking the steely body, aware that the others were doing the same, crying out with the effort.

And it was enough. Just.

Visions cleared, and the daemon was down. But even as Rokurou pulled more air into his lungs, daggers clenched tightly in his fists, he could see the Swordbreaker’s limbs starting to move. He was dragging himself back up, slowly getting on to his feet, as though this were a minor inconvenience.

_He is one tough bastard,_ Rokurou marveled, with more admiration than he would’ve thought himself capable of. _But I still want your sword._

“He’s still moving!” Velvet sounded more pissed off than alarmed, annoyed at the cheek of an enemy for not dying to her ferocious attack, and Rokurou could understand that. 

_I want to kill this one,_ he thought, as his eyes narrowed. _The lindwurm, Zaveid. Artorius; I didn’t get to kill any of them. I’m due a kill. And if that really is Stormquell, then it belongs in my hands._

Right in front of him was a blade, the name of which had been passed down through legend. It was a blade with a single purpose, to bring fear to his clan, and to kill the head of House Rangetsu. This was more than a kill; this was personal to him, and there would be no better way to prove to himself that he was ready than to kill this daemon, and take a sword which had been designed to drip with Rangetsu blood. 

Rokurou smiled. Today was a good day.

“I’ll take this one.” He walked in front of Velvet; unlike at Vortigern, there was no-one opposing him this time. If even Eizen had tried to stop him, he would’ve struck him down. Rokurou drew his daggers, feeling the winds of the ravine tugging at him, locking gazes with the Swordbreaker. “Come and get me!”

The Swordbreaker predictably charged; he wanted this as much as Rokurou did. They were running towards each other, weapons raised, clash inevitable, Rokurou assessing the daemon’s capabilities even as their weapons met-

-and Rokurou was flying backward, knocked away by the tremendous force of a direct sword attack from the daemon. He hit the grass with a grunt, feeling no shame or embarrassment at his failed attempt, just a satisfaction that his daggers had survived the impact. He picked himself up, more eager than ever to fight this Swordbreaker, looking straight at the daemon who stood and waited for him. 

A low growl rumbled in the base of Rokurou’s throat, and he allowed it to rise. This would be good: this would be the time when he’d take back his purpose and his self-belief, the time when he proved to himself and everyone else that he was a Rangetsu, a swordsman, a warrior. He would show everyone his skill, unsurpassable. He would have his kill, at last.

Bloodlust grinned questioningly at him, blood dripping from its fangs, and he happily let it off the leash at last. His heart pulsed painfully, and the world turned red; everything was red as blood. Including the Swordbreaker.

_I will kill you!_ He wanted to howl, _I will cut you down, rend your limbs from each other! I will melt you down for slag! I will dance on the cinders of your body, your dying embers, with Stormquell in my hand!_

What he said was: “Good. A challenge.”

The daemon charged again, and Rokurou did the same, a feverish desire to deal death roaring around his mind, around the tattered remains of his soul. He didn’t care if he were overpowered again, barely cared if he ended up impaled on the foreign sword himself; he just wanted to see death and blood, even if it were his own. A silent scream ripped through him as he ran, charging toward inevitable doom for one of them.

“Look out!”

A voice behind him, and a sudden blaze of light on his left side: a malak arte. It hit the Swordbreaker squarely in the chest, sending him crashing backward in a plume of grit, grass, and dirt.

Someone had saved him.

_Saved_ him. _Patronized_ him. _Denied_ him.

_Do they think I’m not good enough?!_ Bloodlust roared around him, frustrated yet again, to the point that the rush of his own blood almost physically hurt. _Do they think I’m a child with no honour who can’t fight his own battles? Do they think they can stop me from taking what should be mine? You won’t stop me! You won’t stop me, Shigure!_

He wheeled around, snarling, the Swordbreaker forgotten. The world was red, and all he could see was some boy, a child, as useless and wretched as he had been, some child with ink-black hair and bangs over one side of his face, useless, pathetic, weak, feeble! It had been the child; he’d stopped him, stopped him from beating Shigure, had always stopped him from beating Shigure!

“Don’t interfere, brat!” The words came from Rokurou, but he was already running to the child, daggers ready to stab the little suckling through the heart. Time slowed down and allowed him to coldly plan the best angle of attack, his breaths the only sound audible to him, until the boy’s rapid inhalations joined them. The child’s one visible amber eye widened in fear and shock, the miserable, pitiful little worm, and Rokurou drew his arm back to end the sorry excuse of a life.

A spear and a sword were suddenly thrust in front of his face, shining as red as everything else.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Touch him and I’ll kill you.”

Disembodied voices. For a moment, he wanted to throw himself on the brandished weapons, sink deep on to them, and let his lifeblood spew out into the world-

-and then his heart lurched again, the red vision fading, and the faces of Eleanor and Velvet coalesced in front of him. He’d barely ever seen either of them look so enraged, and he could only stare back at them in confusion. Then he looked down, and saw that the boy with the amber eyes and ink-black hair was gone, replaced by a very scared-looking Laphicet, clutching his hands to his chest.

_Shit,_ Rokurou realised, feeling an empty hollowness within himself. He dropped his arms down immediately, from where they’d been raised to strike.

“Sorry. I just got a little riled up.”

They wouldn’t accept that, he knew, but it was the truth. Apparently it was good enough for now, though; they lowered their weapons, and he dared to turn his back on them and look for the daemon. Predictably, it had taken the opportunity, and departed.

_And it took Stormquell with it._ Rokurou could only gaze in the direction it’d fled in, wishing for more than one reason that he hadn’t gotten a little carried away. _Oh well, it happens. Sucks, though._

Eizen stepped up to his side, and Rokurou spared him a glance. The pirate was glaring again.

“Do you know that daemon?”

“No, but I know his sword.” Rokurou wouldn’t lie if he were asked a direct question; couldn’t lie. “A blade called Stormquell.”

“Stormquell?” 

He turned to see Magilou; the tone of voice she used was the same as if she’d suddenly discovered that her neighbour was secretly seeing her best friend’s husband. Scandal, gossip, intrigue.

“Whatever, it doesn’t have anything to do with us. Let’s just get to the port already.” Velvet had clearly had enough of the distraction, even if he had come close to attacking her Laphicet. If it didn’t involve her revenge on Artorius, then she wasn’t interested.

“Give the boy ten minutes. He looks like he needs it.” Eizen broke in, his tone making it clear that he wouldn’t accept any other course of action. Velvet shrugged.

“Okay. Ten minutes.”

“Good.” A gloved hand clamped on to Rokurou’s shoulder. “We’re going to have another little chat.”

That was also delivered in a tone of voice which wouldn’t tolerate any other option, and Rokurou found himself being marched around an outcrop, away from the sight of the others, and given an almighty cuff around the side of his head which made his ears ring.

He could feel Eizen tense for a reprisal, even as the blow made him stagger, but Rokurou didn’t resist. He couldn’t deny that he deserved it, even if every instinct was telling him to launch himself at the malak with teeth bared.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Eizen spat, not lowering his fists. Here, surrounded by cliffs and rock, wind whipping through golden strands of hair, he looked every inch the creature of the earth that he was.

“Uh… not much.” Rokurou gingerly felt the side of his head, more for a distraction from Eizen’s livid face than anything else. He couldn’t feel any bleeding, though it was going to bruise up pretty well.

“That much was obvious! Is this part of being a daemon - being a yaksha? Attacking small children? Was it like that exorcist at Vortigern; did Laphicet say something to piss you off while he was saving your life?”

Rokurou felt that prickling sensation again; shook it away. He couldn’t deny any of the things that Eizen was implying: he was a daemon. He couldn’t feel any of the things that humans did, or malakhim did, or even Velvet did. Maybe that was part of being a yaksha, or maybe that was just the way he was: unusual even among his own kind for more than being a daemon who’d retained his reason. All he could do was be in situations and react accordingly, and often that reaction was tilted in favour of the violence which always lurked within him. The fact that it didn’t come out more often was the bigger surprise. 

He remembered being eleven years old, having a conversation with his brother Gorou. He’d always been comparatively the kindest of his brothers, a trait that had gotten him killed in the end, and he’d told Rokurou his belief that no matter what they did in life, humans were inherently good at their core.

Well, Rokurou wasn’t human anymore. He’d lost that core, and he didn’t miss it, even if it meant that he wasn’t as good as humans or malakhim. Eizen was still waiting for his answer, but he wasn’t sure how to put that into words.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

Eizen shook his head, clearly infuriated, and Rokurou felt a pang at the thought that he could’ve lost his friendship with the pirate. 

_I went after a malak child. Yeah, he’s probably pretty steamed about that._

“I know you can’t feel any shame at what you did, and I’m trying hard to understand it - but do you understand now why Velvet sometimes doesn’t put her full trust in you? Right now, she probably doesn’t give a damn whether you live or die.”

“Yeah, I do, but…” Rokurou paused, feeling the wind tug at his hakama. “I couldn’t stop it this time. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really aware of what I was doing.”

Eizen’s expression relented a tiny amount at that, though his lips were still pressed into a grim line. “Why? How come this time was so different?”

Rokurou took a breath; he couldn’t lie, especially if he was asked a direct question. It would add further dishonour to his record. He turned his face up to the sky, closed his eyes, and felt the wind ruffle his hair like it was gently caressing him, encouraging him in a way that few people ever had.

“Because I have someone I need to beat in a sword fight, and I’m pretty sure that daemon had a connection to them. I wanted to get its sword for myself, because it might be one of the few things in the world that could give me an advantage - when Laphicet knocked the Swordbreaker away, it was like being told that I wasn’t good enough to fight it. I just wanted to prove myself.” 

“Prove yourself?” Eizen’s voice sounded curious, and now that his anger had subsided, Rokurou enjoyed the sound of his voice. He was always so gruff, but he had a certain twang in his accent that was strangely pleasurable. “Prove yourself to whom?”

“Me,” Rokurou answered, and suddenly felt more vulnerable than he had at any time since becoming a daemon. He really, really didn’t like it. 

“You?” Eizen’s anger was completely replaced by confusion. “What do you need to prove to yourself? I thought you were confident in your martial artes?”

“I need to beat him, otherwise I'm worthless.” Rokurou turned to face Eizen, unable to stop his eyes from pleading. “I’ve needed to defeat him for years, since I was a kid, and now that I’m a daemon, it’s the only thing I need. It’s all I think about, from the moment I wake up. I need to prove that I can do it.”

“And that’s why you always push yourself to be better? Because you need to beat this guy, whoever he is?”

“Yeah. I’m not worth anything unless I can beat him. I mean, I’m not sure I’m worth much anyway, but it’s just something I’ve got to do. And I guess it all got on top of me a little this time.” Rokurou looked up at Eizen, feeling that vulnerability more than ever. “Soooo…uh, we still friends and stuff?”

“Gods, Rokurou.” Eizen rubbed the bridge of his nose with tensed fingers. “Yes, we’re friends. I don’t abandon my friends easily. But I don’t want to see you charging towards a malak child with your daggers drawn, either; you scared the hell out of him. Apologize to Laphicet, and we’re good.”

“I will.” Rokurou meant it; Laphicet deserved an apology. And probably an explanation and a warning for next time too; he didn’t want to hurt the little guy. If he’d seen Laphicet’s face in front of him, it probably would’ve played out differently. “I’ll wait until we’re on the move again, and pull him to the side.”

“Good.” Eizen eyed him, clearly more on his mind. “Rokurou. Your eye was glowing like… well, a daemon. Was that you pushed past your limit?”

Rokurou met his gaze, feeling his hair scuff against his daemonblighted face, wondering what Eizen’s reaction would be. 

“No. I stopped. I didn’t kill him. If I’d been pushed past the limit of my control on my bloodlust, I wouldn’t have stopped until someone else made me, or until you were all dead.” He spoke plainly, as ever. 

Eizen was silent for a moment considering. “If you lose control and turn on us again, I’ll make sure I stop you. Fast.”

_Words are funny things,_ Rokurou thought as he stared at Eizen’s face. Anyone else would’ve taken it as a threat - but they couldn’t hear the emotion swirling in Eizen’s voice, the determination, the reassurance, a need to protect. Rokurou hadn’t felt that from many people in his life so far.

He smiled. 

“Thank you.”

***

_“Ichirou, I’m not tired enough to sleep.” Rokurou put on his best pout, as his eldest brother pulled up the warm woolen blanket to just below his chin, patting it down. “Why can’t I stay up and be with you all?”_

_“Because you’re five years old.” Ichirou merely shrugged as Rokurou immediately hitched his arms out from underneath the perfectly-smoothed blankets, rumpling them. “You’re the youngest, so you go to bed first. That’s just how it is, kid.”_

_“But I don’t want to be the youngest!”_

_Ichirou sniggered; the sound echoed around the dormitory which served as sleeping quarters for six brothers, with its plain white walls and tiled roof. “Ain’t nothing you can do about that, little bro, unless Shigure decides to whelp another kid. But I think she took one look at you when you were born, saw you were so small and puny, and decided to stop.”_

_Rokurou tossed his head impatiently, wisps of black cascading around him. “I want to serve our lord, like you will soon. I’m just as good as Gorou and Shirou; why can’t I do it?”_

_“Because you’re a little kid, because you don’t get everything you want, and because serving a lord is shittier than you think. Just be happy with being the smallest. You get all the hand-me-downs that the rest of us have outgrown! They’re just right for you!” Ichirou held up a stuffed toy, waggling it so its eyes and smile appeared to almost move. “Cuddle your normin like a good boy.”_

_Rokurou flushed, but he took the toy normin from his brother. He was the only one still allowed toys, and he loved the green normin with all his heart. No one knew what normin were, exactly, but they made for popular plushies and merchandise - Rokurou’s best guess was that it was some sort of bunny in a puffy hat, a bow around its neck. It wouldn’t be long until Shigure would take it away from him, saying he no longer needed such things, but he’d already found a loose flooring panel in the guest quarters with a space underneath. He’d hide it, and reclaim it one day._

_“I wish I was sixteen,” he said begrudgingly. “I want to be able to ride off and have adventures. I want to fight people every day, and kill our lord’s enemies. I want to-”_

_The boy bit his tongue; he’d almost said_ “I want to be like you.” _But he’d never say that to Ichirou, never, not even if there was truth in it. His eldest brother was fourteen, muscles already rippling in his arms, with a tan that made skin which was already golden gleam. Rokurou had the same eyes as Ichirou, but there was a sleekness and perfection about him that Rokurou already worried he’d never possess himself._

_In many ways, Ichirou had always been his hero, but the sting of all their practice battles together, being knocked to the ground twice a day and wiping blood and dirt from his face, meant that he was brewing resentment alongside his worship, one that went further than a sibling rivalry._

_“Trust me, little bro, I almost wish you were sixteen, too.” Ichirou sat on the edge of his bed, looking at him over his shoulder._

_Rokurou sat up, mussing the blankets completely, his normin doll tucked in the crook of his arm. “You do? Why?”_

_“Because I wouldn’t leave you without a mother before then. That’d be kinda dickish.” Ichirou stretched his feet out in front of him, his body taut, and his voice unusually muted. “Plus I’m pretty sure I’d be legally responsible for raising you, and having a little kid around would cramp my style.”_

_“What… what do you mean, Ichirou?” Rokurou could feel his fingers pressing into the velvety sides of the normin as he stared at his brother, a creeping sensation of dread in his stomach. His brother was staring straight ahead, as if fixated on something, and for the first time in Rokurou’s life, he looked like a stranger. The cozy familiarity of Ichirou tucking him into bed, one of their usual rituals, was dissipated._

_When Ichirou turned, his eyes weren’t unkind. “What are the rules for being a valued member of the clan, Rokurou?”_

_“To follow the family code, to serve our master until death, and to lead the Rangetsu clan to further honour by attaining the position of Shigure”, Rokurou recited, even through the rapid beating of his heart._

_“And how do you think you get to be the Shigure?”_

_Rokurou swallowed, his eyes wide. “Shigure said she’d tell me that when I’m seven.”_

_“To be Shigure, you have to kill the previous Shigure. You have to take that name, same way you take their sword.” Ichirou’s words dropped like rocks, and Rokurou physically flinched at the sound of them. “You have to do it, otherwise you ain’t valued; you’re a failure. You’re not worthy of your name. And I ain’t failing in this life, not at anything.”_

_“You’re going to kill our mother?” The words fell off Rokurou's tongue; he felt like he didn’t know how to speak anymore. Though in his heart, he knew everything he was hearing was true._

_“That’s what she wants us to do. Why do you think we all fight each other all day, every day? It’s what we’re training for.” Ichirou turned his head again, and Rokurou looked at his profile, at the smooth skin on his brow. “We fight each other ‘cause we’re the only competition good enough, all of us. The strongest of us will be the one left standin’, whether that’s our mother, or one of us sons. But I’m tellin’ you now, it’ll be me left at the end.”_

_“What happens to Jirou, or Saburou?” Rokurou barely dared to breathe; his chest felt tight. His brothers had always been his competition, rather than caring elder siblings, but now every single one of them seemed dangerous, threatening. “What happens to me?”_

_Ichirou locked eyes with him again, as amber as the eyes of the cats who hung around the Rangetsu estate’s kitchens. “If you don’t challenge me, you’ll be a failure too. And I’ll treat you like the dog you are. Otherwise you can try to take my name from me, and die on my sword.”_

_Ichirou stood up, looming over him, and Rokurou could only stare up wide-eyed with his normin in his trembling hand._

_“Don’t worry, Rokurou. You’re my favourite brother, after all. You’re the most fun to be around! And you’ve got way too much pride to be my dog; I think you’ll put up the most entertainin’ fight out of all of ‘em.” Ichirou put a gentle, calloused hand on the top of his head, gently stroking his hair with a thumb. “When I get bored of fightin’ you, I’ll do something for you that I won’t do for any of the rest of ‘em - I’ll make it fast. You’ll barely feel it, I promise. I’ll even put a marker where you fall; you deserve that much.”_

_Rokurou hugged the normin to his chest, pressing his small chin into the creature’s hat, thoughts whirling too fast for him to process properly. Ichirou would kill their mother one day, or be a failure. Then he’d have to kill Ichirou, or he’d be unworthy of the family he’d been born into. Now that he had the knowledge of it, earlier than he should’ve, he knew that he’d never see Ichirou, or Jirou, or even Gorou as anything but his potential killer._

_Rough fingers curled beneath his chin, forcing it upward, even as Ichirou’s face loomed towards him. Rokurou closed his eyes, and felt a kiss on his forehead._

_“Sleep well, little bro. Don’t let the daemons bite.”_

***

The memory flittered through Rokurou’s mind as they walked through the tunnels which supposedly led to the island’s port. He didn’t know what had brought it back - probably Magilou suddenly recalling the details of the legend of Stormquell, and how it’s creator had striven to break the God Blade, Stormhowl. But the memory troubled him more than they usually did. 

It was like seeing a scene in a play, but being a long distance from it. He remembered sitting in his bed, remembered Ichirou telling him the knowledge that he hadn’t been ready for (their mother had been furious), remembered clutching his normin toy - but he couldn’t remember what he’d felt. He knew that there’d been a feeling he’d had toward his brother before the incident. He just didn’t know what it was. All he could remember was fear and anger, the bitterness at the thought of being knocked down into the dirt. 

Even the normin was a mystery. He’d felt something toward that toy, but all he noticed when he thought of it was an emptiness in his chest. He’d done what he’d planned, and hidden the normin under the loose floorboard - as far as he knew, it was still there. Maybe he’d go back one day and find it, try to figure out what that feeling had been. 

The sound of clashing swords broke into his thoughts; chased everything else out instantly. Velvet broke into a run and he followed, turning a corner-

-then he halted, as what he saw before him triggered a rage which roared up from his heart as quickly and fiercely as a flamestone explosion, and he willingly allowed himself to drown in it. 

***

Eizen surveyed the scene in front of them, and he had to admit, it was quite the surprise. But for a being who’d been around for a thousand years, that was never necessarily a bad thing. 

The Swordbreaker was on the ground, his own blade scattered in shards around him, whilst a tall human with a greatsword in hand stood over him, long black hair draping all the way down his back. 

_So much for that being a legendary sword._ Eizen glanced over to Rokurou; he couldn’t see the daemon’s face, but he was stock-still and silent, an obvious tension in his usually-relaxed frame. Clearly he was surprised too. 

“Well, if you aren’t the craziest daemon! Your body’s harder than your own sword!”

The human’s voice was drawling, utterly relaxed, as if life were a simple breeze. Eizen had only ever heard that tone of voice in two types of people: those who had been born into enormous wealth, and those who knew they had nothing to fear from anyone else. Wealthy types tended not to be fighters, though, and the black and gold greatsword provided confirmation of the answer. 

Eizen just couldn’t work out why the hilt of that sword looked strangely familiar. 

“Who’s this?” Velvet spoke; the human didn’t even bother turning at the sound of her voice. 

“That’s Lord Shigure - one of only two legate exorcists in the entire Abbey!” The admiration in Eleanor’s voice was painfully obvious, but Eizen didn’t care: all his ears heard was the man’s rank. 

“A legate… same as Melchior.” This Shigure probably had access to information on his fellow legate’s activities. If there was some way of making him talk… maybe getting news of Aifread wouldn’t be as difficult as he feared. 

Maybe it had been the mention of Melchior’s name, but the legate turned around. He was undeniably handsome, with tanned skin that contrasted with midnight-black hair, and Eizen got the impression that he was fully aware of the fact. He wore the tiniest uniform that the malak had ever seen, a white shirt which barely covered more than the man’s shoulders, a variety of pectoral and abdominal muscles on display. The tooth of some creature, possibly a daemon of some sort, hung on a necklace, whilst a pair of loose pants couldn’t hide obvious power in his legs. The whole thing was finished off with a smirk, which turned the man’s face somewhat cruel and sharp-looking. 

Bizarrely, a fat white cat, with painted eyebrows which were visible even from this distance, sat next to him. Neither took any notice of the Swordbreaker who still heaved on the ground nearby. 

“Eleanor! Fancy meeting you here!” The man wasn’t remotely troubled by their presence; Eizen instinctively took his wariness up a notch. “What the hell happened to you? You get captured by a daemon? Or are you a turncoat?”

The admiration fell off Eleanor’s pale face, replaced with something akin to panic. “Uh… I … I’m…”

Shigure waved her into silence with a casual flick of his hand. “Eh, don’t matter. I do my own thing. I got no standin’ to tell you how to live.” He grinned at the downed Swordbreaker. “Still, today’s my lucky day! Never thought I’d encounter the one and only Stormquell!”

The white cat - a malak, Eizen realised; he could feel the mana running through her body - looked up at the legate, eyebrows raised. “Shigure, I think someone over there wants your attention. He looks lonely.”

Shigure laughed, throwing his head back. 

“You’re right, I’m bein’ a jerk! Just can’t pass up the chance to tease my little brother.” He looked up, and with a sickening lurch, Eizen suddenly recognised those amber eyes. “Can I, Rokurou?”

“Your brother?!” Velvet spat, and Eizen felt himself reel. A single glance over at Rokurou confirmed it: now that he knew, it was obvious they were brothers. The same skin tone, the same dark hair - all that separated them was the softer, kinder shape of Rokurou’s face, and the daemonblight which tattooed his skin. 

_Is this where he betrays his oath to Velvet?_ Eizen thought with a rising emotion that he was surprised to recognize as fear. _This is his clan, his family._

But no - a second glance told him that Rokurou’s body wasn’t just tense, but almost rigid, his human eye opened wide and his mouth set in a half-snarl. This was something completely different to the relationship that Eizen had with his sister; Rokurou was already on the verge of losing control again. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, Shigure.” His voice was strained, seemingly measured, but Eizen could hear a burning anger underneath the words. 

The legate scoffed at him. “You go blind, dumbass? I’m bucketloads stronger now! You’re the one who hasn’t changed, I bet. You still hung up on tryin’ to take me down?” 

_Gods damn it all to the bottom of the ocean._ The penny dropped for Eizen at the same time as everyone else; Laphicet wheeled around in shock. 

“The one you want to beat in a fight… that’s him?!”

It was as if Rokurou hadn’t heard the boy: Eizen didn’t think that he was aware of anyone else at all. As he drew his daggers, Rokurou’s entire focus was clearly only on one person. 

“I’m not who I was that day either… brother.” 

And Rokurou’s right eye, the eye that had been destroyed and replaced by something daemonic, flared with a ruby-red light that made Eizen’s heart sink. He’d never seen it blaze before today; now he’d seen it twice within as many hours, and he recognised it as Rokurou giving in to pure rage. He also recognised it from countless daemons he’d seen over the years, the mindless ones who functioned on pure instinct and savagery. He didn’t want Rokurou to be like them, to fall so deeply that he couldn’t come back; the thought of it was terrible. 

He almost pitied Shigure, finding out about his brother’s transformation like this. He’d had nightmares about Edna becoming corrupted, having to kill her with his bare hands, had woken with tears on his cheeks. 

“Oh? Wait, you’re a _daemon?”_

Shigure’s head went back, and he guffawed, loudly and extensively. Eizen almost recoiled, both at the revulsion he felt toward the human before him, and at the wave of anger that came off Rokurou like a physical blast.

“Haw, now it’s gettin’ good!” As Shigure spoke, the cat malak changed into a beam of energy which nestled inside him - a tethered malak, then - and the legate slowly, threateningly, drew the greatsword from his back to point it at his sibling. “But I wonder… has that really changed anything? When my real Stormhowl breaks your sad reject again, you gonna piss yourself like last time?”

Shigure whipped the sword through the air, and Eizen realised why it was named Stormhowl; some sort of wind arte buffeted them. Rokurou was the only one who didn’t react, as though he were used to it: his malevolence was spiking so high that Eizen could physically feel it. He was glad that the daemon didn’t feel humiliation anymore, because his brother’s taunts would’ve surely pushed him over the edge. Eizen had known people like Shigure; people who thrived in the humiliation they inflicted on others. The thought of doing it to a younger sibling was repulsive to him.

When Rokurou had told him of his desire, his need to defeat his unnamed enemy, Eizen had seen the uncertainty and insecurity on his face, heard the desperation in his voice. Eizen had been almost startled at the intensity of it, coming from a daemon who was so often a calm sea on the surface - that his own brother had made him feel that way was utterly odious. 

Rokurou simply readied his daggers, and Eizen was disconcerted to see that the tips of them were shaking. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly controlled. 

“I’ll handle him. Laphicet, no matter what, I need you to stay out of it.”

“A-All right.” In contrast, the boy's voice shook. Eizen understood how he felt - but at the same time, he couldn’t deny the excitement flowing through his form at the idea of Rokurou fighting his brother, testing every muscle and sinew. 

But as Rokurou stepped forward, Shigure doing the same, it dawned on Eizen that this would be no mere test. The way that the two brothers were eyeing each other, like two cats with their hackles up, and the depth of hate which was still causing Rokurou’s daggers to quiver - this would undoubtedly be a fight to the death. And suddenly Eizen wanted it to stop, wanted to throw himself in the way. 

Rokurou suddenly let loose, whirling towards his grinning brother, and it had begun. 

Sparks flew up as their blades met; Rokurou dancing away immediately before darting back in, trying to catch Shigure off-guard, but the legate was faster. The greatsword flicked up before Rokurou could close the gap, and the tip scored a gash underneath his left collarbone, almost parallel to the daemonblight markings. 

_First blood,_ Eizen thought, his fist tightening, making his leather gloves creak. _That’s never a good sign._

“Ha! It’s been too long since we crossed swords, brother!” Shigure swung his blade lazily. 

“Shut up! You’re dead!” The control was utterly gone from Rokurou’s voice; it was a feral snarl now, which seemed to only amuse Shigure further. Eizen could see the utter madness in his eyes, probably not helped by the pain and scent of his early wound. “I’ll make you regret sparing my life last time!”

He was showing respect to the reach of Shigure’s greatsword; too much respect. Despite his obvious bloodlust, it was making him hesitant and defensive, inviting his brother on to him. The conflicting thoughts within him were obvious, and if Shigure’s mindset were anything like Eizen’s would’ve been, it was a clear weak spot to be exploited. 

They both danced around each other, both flawless in their athleticism and movement, but even Laphicet was probably able to spot that Shigure was dominant. His movements, and the swinging of his heavy sword, were effortless. He was constantly on the attack, pressing forward. Rokurou was meeting every blow, able to parry the lightning-fast strikes, but always on the backfoot, clearly exerting more effort into the battle than Shigure was.

And Shigure was still grinning, as if he were playing with a child.

Eizen stole a glance at Velvet, tearing his eyes away from the deadly dance, and saw that she was looking back at him with the same expression: there was no way Rokurou could win this fight. But even as a yelp from the daemon drew Eizen’s attention back, the greatsword having scored another hit in his leg, Eizen knew that Rokurou wouldn’t give up. He was a yaksha: he would fight until his very last breath.

He looked more like a yaksha than ever too, pausing to snarl at his brother, a half-inhuman sound ripping from curled lips. It was pure frustration and rage, but Eizen couldn’t help but think of a cat hissing at a tiger. Shigure’s grin only widened.

“You’re feisty as a daemon! I like it!”

Rokurou let out a yell as he charged forward, seemingly close to the edge of pure insanity, but Shigure wasn’t deterred; he leapt in with his greatsword aloft. Rokurou dodged the almighty downward blow that was aimed at him, and the two were swapping strikes again, almost faster than Eizen could keep track of. It was obvious why Rangetsu swordsmen were considered the finest in the world; no one else would’ve stood a chance against either brother, and it almost seemed predictable when all three blades became locked together. 

But that meant that it was decided by pure strength, and Eizen’s heart thudded as Shigure pushed hard, sending Rokurou flying backward with a cry. He lost his footing, crashing to the ground, and before he could do as much as lift his face, Shigure was pointing Stormhowl right at him.

“But alas, I think our fight’s over.”

_He lost._ Eizen felt numb, as though he’d lost the feeling in his legs. _And now he’s going to die._ The tip of the sword was inches from the spot between Rokurou’s eyes, as if Shigure were preparing to plunge it straight through his brother’s skull.

He couldn’t stand by and watch Rokurou die: he was a companion, he was a friend, he was-

“Rokurou!”

Laphicet had beaten him to taking action: the boy’s body shone with the light of an arte being cast, and suddenly Eleanor jerked as though she were a marionette, a magician taking control of her strings.

“What? My… my body!” She charged into the fray, but even as she did so, a dagger came slicing through the air towards her head: the magical control dropped just in time for her to fend it away with her spear, clanging with a metallic shriek.

_“I said stay out of this!”_ Rokurou looked crazed, roaring at the exorcist, but it had bought him time. He was on his feet again, his remaining dagger in his hand, finally reaching toward his own greatsword with his eye still ablaze. “We’re just getting started here!”

He drew the greatsword… and Eizen felt his stomach drop as he finally learnt why Rokurou had never used it; refused to use it. The greatsword was broken; all that remained was a few stubby inches of sheared-off metal, attached to the hilt. It had clearly been almost-identical to the blade Shigure carried, the unfamiliar language inscribed upon reddish-black metal, but it would be utterly useless in a battle, unwieldy and oddly-weighted. Eizen saw the move for what it was: an act of desperation from someone who simply couldn’t let this fight go, was obsessed with it, consumed by it.

It was over. Everyone knew it, except Rokurou.

“Oh? No backing down for you this time, eh?” Shigure didn’t flinch as a burst of light emerged from his body; the cat malak taking its own form once again. “But we’re done for today.”

Rokurou visibly flinched as his brother turned his back on him and started walking away, dismissed as surely as if he’d been slapped. His daemon eye lost its fire, and for the briefest moment he looked like a lost child, falling into a well-worn posture - before he shook his head wildly, banishing whatever thoughts had been in his mind and causing strands of hair to whip against his face. 

“Shigure!” He was charging again, dominated by a fanaticism that came from some other place than the rage which bubbled beneath his surface, and Eizen could see that desperation in his face anew. Not that it mattered to Shigure; with an agile twist of the man’s body, he was facing Rokurou with his sword pointed at the daemon’s heart. Once more, Rokurou was forced to stop, with a frustration that was almost tangible.

“Oh, calm down, Rokurou.” Shigure drawled his brother’s name with a grin, as if he were speaking to a toddler, hefting the greatsword as easily as a twig. “We could have a real fight sometime, if you actually brought a decent sword. Go ask that old bastard there to make you one. I’ll be waitin’.”

“Huh? Who?” Rokurou’s eyes roved wildly, the adrenaline almost visibly draining out of him.

The white cat looked up at him with obvious scorn, and Eizen felt a flash of anger course through him. “That daemon in the armour, Kurogane.”

Laphicet started immediately. “The blacksmith! From the story!”

The story: Eizen cast his mind back to what Magilou had said before they’d entered this tunnel complex - one of the few times he hadn’t dismissed her words as the witterings of a deranged crackpot - and the tale of the blacksmith. Kurogane, the man who’d been obsessed with the idea of forging a sword which could defeat Stormhowl - the God Blade. The sword which Rokurou had finally, grimly, revealed to be the one passed through his family for generations. Eizen had assumed he’d been talking about the greatsword on his own back, but clearly Shigure held the God Blade: the Swordbreaker’s target.

And the Swordbreaker was none other than Kurogane himself, turned into a daemon. Eizen hadn’t even noticed that the armoured figure had been watching the battle unfold, but there he was, observing at a distance. Rokurou spun to stare at him, his begrimed kimono rippling.

“I’ll be waitin’ for you at Port Cadnix. Unless you can beat me, you ain’t gettin’ off this island.” Shigure seemed to have a permanent smirk, but there was an element of malicious glee that made Eizen’s hackles rise: clearly, this was all one big game to the legate. He wasn’t content with humiliating his own brother; he had to see how much more fun he could squeeze out of the situation.

“Who are you to decide that?” Velvet snapped at last, her bandaged hand clenching into a fist.

“You got a problem with it, lady?” Shigure leveled his sword at her, before flicking his wrist and unleashing the whirlwind arte again; Eizen felt grit and grains from the tunnel floor strike his face. “Best of luck, you daemons! You’ll need it!”

He had finished toying with them, and as Shigure began to walk away, Eizen saw Rokurou finally sag with misery. His shoulders dropped, back into that almost childlike, submissive demeanor, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. Eizen had seen it before, in dogs that had been kicked too many times.

A flash of red at his side; Eleanor stepped forward with a boldness that Eizen was fairly sure she didn’t feel. “Lord Shigure, sir! I’m on a high-level mission…”

Shigure stopped, spared her the barest glance over his shoulder. 

“Eleanor, babe. I get it. You’ve gone rogue. Have fun with that.” His eyes narrowed. “I see you again, I’ll kill ya.”

Then he was finally done with them, as if he’d dislodged a needy toddler from clutching at his leg, sauntering away with his cat daintily picking her way beside him. 

Rokurou’s head dropped, finally beaten, and Eizen had taken a few steps forward before he realised what he was doing. As much as he would’ve liked to offer his friend a few comforting words, now wasn’t the time - and he had a feeling that Rokurou wasn’t much in the mood for reassurances, judging by the malevolence that was continuing to pour off him; it was better that neither he nor Laphicet got too close at the moment.

“He wasn’t even trying yet. You can tell.” He spoke the words, knowing that they were further kicking Rokurou when he was down - but it was the truth. He glanced back at Velvet, seeing her give a tiny nod in agreement.

“But if we all fight him together…”

“That won’t work.” Eizen had half-expected Rokurou to break in with an objection: instead, it was the daemon blacksmith who’d spoken. “But there is another way.”

Rokurou strode toward him, almost as if he were squaring up for another fight. “What are you talking about? What way?”

“Follow me.”

Kurogane started walking away, in the same direction Shigure had gone… and with no hesitation, Rokurou followed. Eizen watched him go, staring at the dark hair trailing down his back, and the broken sword it crept against. He didn’t turn around even once, as if Eizen and Velvet and the others didn’t exist any more, debts and friendships forgotten alike.

“Rokurou!” Laphicet cried out, startled.

There was no reaction, and as Rokurou disappeared into the gloom, Eizen realized that daemons did feel pain after all.

***  
Waiting wasn’t in Eizen’s nature.

The trek through the tunnels, searching for some sign of the direction Kurogane and Rokurou had taken, had been bad enough. Eizen had expected the soft pad of Rokurou’s sandals to leave no trace, but a daemon made of metal? Even he had simply melted away, thwarting Eizen’s best attempts at tracking them. In the end, they’d found Kurogane’s forge by sheer chance.

And now, they waited for Kurogane to stop hammering his own decapitated head into a pair of daggers for Rokurou to wield. ‘A fine clump of pure resentment’ he called it; a fine weapon for someone whose bitterness towards his own brother had caused him to be overcome by daemonblight. Even Kurogane had worked that out, in the brief time he’d spent in Rokurou’s company - and Eizen wasn’t surprised by that. 

In the last few hours, it had become crystal clear that Rokurou’s heart was just as blackened and disfigured by daemonblight as his face. 

_The worst part about waiting,_ Eizen thought, subconsciously knocking his fist against his leg as he perched on a boulder, _is that it gives you time to think._

Rokurou’s duality fascinated him, like the daemon was a treasure he’d plundered. His surface was calm, relaxed, often indifferent - but he could change in the blink of an eye. He could go from good-natured quips in one moment, to dealing bloody death with a glowing red eye and a wicked grin in the next. He could be as unpredictable and tempestuous as the deepest ocean. It was fascinating, terrifying, and more alluring than Eizen cared to admit. He’d be a poor pirate if he wasn’t a little bit attracted to the darker side of life.

But at the same time, Eizen had seen obsession in people before, and had seen how badly it could end.

How was it that a daemon with no emotions could feel such an all-consuming rage, experience an anger that was clearly white-hot? Eizen had his suspicions - and if he were correct, there was nothing Rokurou could do about it. But that didn’t stop it from being dangerous, both to Rokurou and the people around him.

There were two ways for this to end, assuming there was no intervention, no diversion of fate. They would either lose Rokurou to Shigure’s sword, or to his own fractured soul.

Eizen hadn’t seen a swordsman better than Shigure - not even Artorius. Rokurou was an outstanding fighter, but he’d looked like a clumsy child in comparison to his elder brother. Shigure had been effortless, not breaking a sweat, barely even increasing his breathing rate. He’d not been flawless - it was as if something had been hampering him slightly, like an old injury, perhaps - but even with that consideration it had been a breathtaking display. Even if Kurogane forged a masterpiece out of his own head, Eizen had no doubt that if Rokurou fought Shigure later today, he would lose.

And if Shigure had been the catalyst for Rokurou’s descent into daemonhood, the cause of a hatred so deep that it had turned him into a war daemon of all things, then there was no way Rokurou would ever give up his self-appointed mission of beating him. He’d said himself that he carried the broken greatsword everywhere he went because it was a reminder of how weak-willed he’d been in the past. It was a penance, a self-punishment, to constantly bear a memento of the shame he could no longer feel. He couldn’t bear to be parted from his hatred, just as he couldn’t stand being apart from the sword itself.

If they denied Rokurou the opportunity to exact his vengeance, Eizen knew that he’d travel to Port Cadnix by himself, and die alone at his brother’s hands.

Eizen couldn’t allow that. And that was why he’d sent a sylphjay to one of Aifread’s informants. Now, it was just a case of waiting to deliver what he’d learnt to the one person who controlled all of their fates, and letting her think that it was her decision.

“Eizen.”

Velvet’s caramel-coloured, cautious eyes met with his as she approached. The rags that she seemed to find acceptable as clothing floated around her, like the wings of a dark bird. He supposed that a lot of men would find their gaze drawn to her rather-visible chest, but he’d never been interested in that particular aspect of her - and he suspected that she appreciated him further because of it.

“The ship is on its way, right on schedule,” he replied casually.

“Of course it is. They don’t have the Reaper on board.” It was the closest she ever got to a joke; a good sign. Eizen would take the constant reminders of his curse, if it meant that he could occasionally get what he wanted. 

“One more thing: apparently Shigure is Artorius’s bodyguard.”

She stared into his soul. Eizen felt like time had stopped, as he kept his face as neutral as possible. It was impossible to know what she was thinking; considering that her emotions were often on display, her eyes betrayed absolutely nothing.

“So we’ll have to face him down sometime, no matter what.” Velvet’s voice was flat, and he had no idea whether she meant sooner, or later. He dared to push a little further, keeping his tone reasonably airy.

“It’s in our best interest to get rid of him while he’s working alone. The problem is, Rokurou can’t beat him by himself.”

A beat. Then she leaned back, ever so slightly, a movement in her long hair revealing the tiniest upward tilt of her head.

“Agreed. Shigure’s not to be trifled with.”

“Certainly. That’s why, when Rokurou creates an opening, we’re going to take Shigure out.”

Eizen had been told that his own gaze could be cold, harsh, piercing, and he flicked her a look which took full advantage of it. He needed to impress the seriousness of the situation upon her, make her commit to the idea of taking on the legate herself, despite her usual reticence to get involved with anyone who wasn’t Artorius. And by drawing a link between Artorius and Shigure, it presented the man as an opportunity to weaken her target’s defences, a preliminary strike. She couldn’t argue with the tactic either: he’d directly stolen it from her.

Rokurou’s life hinged on this moment, and at how good a job Eizen could do at persuading someone with pure ice in their veins. 

_If my curse intervenes now…_

Velvet’s lip curled upward, right at the corner.

“You want us to meddle in somebody else’s private quarrel?”

“If it affects my own quarrel, yes.” It was true, after all: taking out Shigure would make his path to Melchior easier. She didn’t need to know that helping his friend was also a serious consideration.

Velvet’s head turned slightly, before she shrugged. Her decision was made.

“I suppose I’m in the same position. Besides, I can still use him. There’s no sense in throwing his life away.”

Eizen’s back stiffened slightly at her choice of words - he would’ve had that reaction even if Rokurou weren’t his friend - but he let out a quiet exhalation. That would have to suffice. The plan was in motion: a plan that Rokurou would undoubtedly hate, and one that he had to be kept unaware of, but one that would save his life in the end. Right now, that had to be their primary concern.

“Rokurou’s not really a guy to care about the big picture. He might try to hack your limbs off a bit, but he’ll get over it.”

It was only as Velvet moved away that Eizen realised how fast his heart was beating.

***

_Rokurou bit back a startled cry as his chin cracked against the worn flagstones of the Rangetsu estate’s central courtyard, coppery blood flooding into his mouth, and tears springing into the corners of his eyes._

_His hands, palms-down against the smooth stone, had failed to save him from a painful landing. But he’d barely seen the blow that’d felled him; Ichirou had just been too fast. Part of him wanted to blame it on factors beyond his control: after all, he was only ten years old, whilst his brother was a strapping nineteen, an adult._

_There was no place for excuses, though. Especially not today, when Shigure was watching on the sidelines._

_Stiffly, he pushed himself on to aching knees, then on to his feet, looking up sullenly at Ichirou. His eldest brother wore his permanent grin, reassured once more on how easily he’d be able to kill Rokurou one day. Ever since Rokurou had found out his family’s tradition, their way of ensuring that the bloodline was kept as strong as possible, he hadn’t been able to look at Ichirou’s face without imagining it as the last thing he’d see one day._

_Maybe Shigure had been right about him being too young to know about that. But he’d trained twice as hard since then._

_“Haw! He’s gettin’ good!” Ichirou was addressing their mother, his bamboo practise sword casually slung over his shoulder. “I used to be able to knock him on his ass way faster than that!”_

_Shigure said nothing in return, and Rokurou burned with shame._

_This was the part where he was meant to bow to his victorious brother, accept his defeat - essentially, acknowledge that if they had been fighting for real, he would now be dead. Instead, he silently stooped, and picked his wooden daggers from where they’d fallen, clenched in his fists._

_Ichirou turned back to him, and there was a note of surprise on his face, followed by glee._

_“Oh? Want some more, do ya?” He glanced over to their mother; Rokurou followed suit, looking out of the corner of his eyes. Shigure was as controlled and severe as ever, wearing a black kimono, her face showing no emotion._

_“Continue,” she said._

_Rokurou raised his daggers as Ichirou swung the bamboo greatsword off his shoulder, holding it in a relaxed stance. Then they were off again, Rokurou dodging the wide strokes of the greatsword, attempting to block it with his doubled daggers. Ichirou pushed him away, and he sprang back to regroup himself before coming in for another attack. The bamboo greatsword was at an odd angle; he eagerly rushed in for a strike - and only noticed the trap just before he fell into it. The hilt of the sword swung around and struck a heavy blow into his stomach._

_This time, he couldn’t help letting out a cry as he hit the ground._

_“You did well, little bro.” Rokurou looked up, clutching his stomach, to see Ichirou extending his hand towards him. “Come on. We’ll go get some yozakura anmitsu.”_

_That was worse than the physical pain, making a flood of different emotions course through him; instead, Rokurou got back on his feet with an effort, and raised his trembling daggers again._

_Ichirou looked confused, his mouth partly open. Rokurou didn’t take his eyes off him as he looked over to Shigure again, but he heard her verdict._

_“Continue.”_

_This time, Ichirou clearly just wanted it over. Rokurou gasped as the bamboo sword immediately hit him in the ribs, then saw stars as it cracked him on the side of the head, just hard enough to dump him on the floor again._

_Rokurou lay on his back, his breath whistling, looking straight up at a blue sky. He could feel blood trickling down his face, both from his mouth and a wound on the side of his head, as Ichirou’s face hovered into view, closer than he would’ve expected._

_“Rokurou. Stay down, bro.” He sounded like he was underwater._

_Agonisingly slowly, Rokurou pushed himself on to his side, taking rapid breaths with the effort. He could see blood on his hands, as he took one of the wooden daggers in his fingers; he wasn’t sure where the other one was. He rolled again on to his front, then haltingly pushed himself to his knees, bit by bit. He got one foot flat against the ground, then pushed until he stood, weaving unsteadily, glaring at his brother._

_“No,” he spat._

_“Shigure, he won’t stop.” He could see Ichirou’s mouth moving. “How do I make him stop?”_

_Shigure’s voice floated towards him, somewhere to his left._

_“Continue.”_

_Rokurou didn’t even see the bamboo sword coming, and everything went black._

***

The memory came back to Rokurou as he held the hilt of his broken Stormhowl - funny, he could remember all of the emotions in that one. The reddish metal shone, freshly sharpened and oiled, as he slid it back into its scabbard to be reunited with its missing half.

He carefully leaned the greatsword against the tunnel wall, next to where his newly-forged daggers were propped. Port Cadnix was just ahead; he’d requested a few minutes to properly prepare, just as his ancestors had done for centuries. A yaksha was always prepared for war.

Eizen was watching him. Even though he’d deliberately moved away from the group and their curious eyes, he’d been aware of the malak following him. He didn’t mind that; Eizen was a friend, after all, and smart enough to know what Rokurou was preparing for. He hadn’t said a word, though, leaning up against a wall with his arms folded.

He knew that he still had a faint, silvery scar underneath his left ear from where the bamboo sword had hit him that day. If it had been on his right side, it would’ve been swallowed by his daemonblight. He didn’t care about scars though; didn’t really care about anything. That was just who he was, now that he was a yaksha. Though he still didn’t understand why Velvet had raw, passionate emotions, and he didn’t. 

_She’s a therion, whatever that is. Guess I’m just an inferior kind of daemon._

He took his kimono from where he’d folded it, giving his armour and hakama a final straighten before starting to pull the garment on. He had been considered inferior his entire life; Laphicet had helped him realise that. He’d told the boy about how Stormhowl was held by the strongest member of the Rangetsu clan, whilst their siblings received imitations, the versions that would’ve otherwise been thrown away. 

Mere disposable tools. Like him, and like his dead brothers. They had been bred to be the strongest, and if they failed in that task, they were thrown away and forgotten. Only the strongest one mattered.

He didn’t even understand why Shigure was so much stronger than him. When he’d been human, he’d spent many hours alone with his thoughts, trying to work that out. He’d trained so hard, poured so much sweat and blood into it. Perhaps Shigure was naturally gifted, one in a million. Perhaps the nine-year age gap between them was just insurmountable. Hell, Rokurou didn’t even know for certain that they shared the same father; perhaps Shigure just came from better stock.

Or perhaps it was the fact that Shigure’s soul was spotlessly clean, always had been, when Rokurou’s was so tainted that it had been obliterated by daemonblight. Shigure was a blazing light, secure and content in his own choices, actions, and past. Ever since that night when he was five years old, Rokurou had simmered with resentment and bitterness, unable to look past the hand that fate had dealt him. The curse of knowing that his brother would kill him one day, and that he would fail, his life deemed worthless.

There were other things he couldn’t ever forgive Shigure for, he realised as he pulled the shielding plate armour up to his shoulder. Firstly, the way that he’d abandoned the Rangetsu clan after becoming its head. Shigure had failed to carry out his duties to Lord Capalus, too busy pursuing his own glory in the capital. It had made it easy for Rokurou to concoct his lie, but it had also made their mother’s death completely meaningless. Rokurou had watched her die in front of him, run through by Shigure’s sword, and had known that the only thing that would’ve given her peace was the thought that she was being succeeded by the strongest of her children, the one who could take the Rangetsu clan to further honour and prosperity. Shigure had taken her sword and her name, and abandoned the clan to rot.

Secondly, Shigure should’ve killed him three years ago. He’d been sent to execute Shigure on the orders of Lord Capalus, had fought him, had lost - and Shigure had spared him. He’d used Rokurou to send a message to Capalus. It was well-known that only a Rangetsu could kill a Rangetsu in single combat, and Shigure’s last-remaining brother had failed. It said _don’t send anyone else after me._ Instead of killing him, Shigure had let him live with the shame of his defeat, as well as Rokurou’s dishonour in not being able to go through with killing himself, in full knowledge that Rokurou would be punished for his failure. He’d been put on a prison ship in chains, terrified, days later.

Thirdly, and most recently, he burned with resentment that Shigure didn’t care that he was a daemon now. Everything he’d been through, screaming on the floor of a filthy prison cell whilst every cell in his body burned with a dark poison, scorching his humanity out of him - and Shigure had laughed. Gloating in his superiority, as usual, delighted that his brother was now even lower and inferior than he had been. Shigure was an exorcist; daemons were mere playthings to him. Rokurou’s eyes narrowed at the thought of it.

He’d told Laphicet the truth earlier, he thought as he reached up to make sure his ponytail was firmly tied. He would do anything to kill Shigure, even if it cost him life and limb. He’d paid his heart and soul already; they were practically gone. It was more important to him than life itself.

He took the greatsword and clipped it to his back, feeling the familiar weight of his shame. His new daggers were next, a symbol of new hope. And if they didn’t work, if what he had planned didn’t work, then at least he looked as a Rangetsu should as they departed the world.

He turned to Eizen, feeling calm as ever. The pirate looked back at him, a troubled frown marring his face.

“I’m ready.”

***

“There they are.”

Shigure’s greeting as they walked out into the dock area of Port Cadnix was typical: he was talking about them, not at them. Rokurou had to swallow down a surge of bloodlust at the mere sight of his brother, standing there in his white Abbey uniform (if you could call it that) like he owned the place, his cat malak at his side. A handful of nervous-looking exorcists accompanied him.

The locals had wisely cleared out of the area, and Rokurou took a deep breath of salty air to try to settle himself. He needed to keep a clear, focused head for as long as possible this time; he tried to concentrate on the scents assaulting his senses, the smell of fish and seaweed which had been trodden into well-worn cobblestones over decades.But he couldn’t ignore the tension of his companions, surrounding him - Velvet and Eizen, in particular. 

“Which must mean they took out every one of the exorcists who went after them.” Morgrim practically purred; he never had liked his brother’s malak.

“Hey, I told ‘em not to bother.” And then Shigure was looking straight at him, and Rokurou could see his own eyes reflected back at him; their mother’s eyes. “Now, how did that sword of yours turn out?”

A snarl burst out of Rokurou before he could stop it, and he was drawing his daggers, despite his determination to keep a clear head. That familiar smirk passed over Shigure’s face again, and Rokurou could imagine what he was thinking: _my poor, feral, substandard little brother._

“Fine. I’ll find out for myself!” Shigure drew his sword the way he always had, lazily letting the scabbard scrape down Stormhowl’s edges as he slowly raised the hilt. As a human, Rokurou had disliked the move as being disrespectful; as a daemon, the screech of metal against metal grated against his acute senses. Once again, Morgrim disappeared inside her master.

“Rokurou, we can handle the exorcists.” A voice beside him: Laphicet. “Go and find your victory.”

“... Thanks.” He’d barely noticed the exorcists, if he were being honest. All he could see was Shigure, standing with the ocean at his back, Stormhowl slung casually over his shoulder just as that bamboo sword always had been. A physical barrier preventing them from leaving Port Cadnix, and a barrier to Rokurou continuing his own life. 

Shigure was grinning at him, and Rokurou knew that his brother was already visualising how he was going to slay him - just as he was doing the same in return.

“All right, let’s get down to business!”

Rokurou didn’t need any further invitation; he rushed towards Shigure, the dark purple Kurogane daggers poised almost at eye-level. His brother loomed up in his vision, unmoving until Rokurou was in striking distance, then the great black and gold shape of Stormhowl swung toward him. He dodged it easily, readjusting his stance to slip into the gap in Shigure’s guard - and then he hurriedly sprang back again, almost fooled into the same trap Shigure had hit him with all those years ago. His temper flared even as he did so: Shigure was toying with him again.

“You better not die too quickly on me! I want this to be fun! C’mon, bro! Don’t hold back!” Shigure brought Stormhowl around in a fast, powerful sweep.

“Shut up!” Rokurou snarled, feeling the tip of the blade slide through the air inches from his face, slashing his daggers towards Shigure’s unprotected side. “Don’t play games with me!”

He wasn’t aware of how the others were doing against the group of exorcists; all he could see was Shigure’s grinning face, completely filling his consciousness. How many times had he been in this position, looking at his brother’s face as they fought, waiting for pain and defeat?

“Ooooh, those are some fine-looking swords ya got there.” Shigure’s voice was utterly relaxed, as he performed a downward chop at lightning speed. 

“Take a good look, because they’re going to cut you down!”

Shigure laughed, even as he fended off Rokurou’s attack. “Yeah, that’s right, get into it! Keep it up, I love it!”

Rokurou’s bloodlust howled inside him, begging to be released; Shigure was speaking to him like a lover! The insult stung him, lodged under his skin, but he knew that he had to keep focused. If his strategy was going to work, he couldn’t let himself go blind with fury; that would quickly lead to his death.

He could hear the sounds of the battle around him as Velvet and the rest of the group fought the exorcists, surely nearly beaten by now: he could hear the screams that Velvet often emitted in her rage, the fizzing of artes, the inane chatter of Magilou. All of it was distraction from his own fight, but it was helping to keep him grounded.

Spinning, making his body twist to the full limit of its flexibility, Rokurou roared as he came in for another attack, unleashing pent-up energy in a flurry of dagger strikes that Shigure had to move quickly to defend. He didn’t manage to land a blow on his brother - he never had - but at last he was making him work. He forced Shigure to block one dagger then the next, the taller man’s stance shifting as he did so, leading them both in a dance that was as deadly as it was beautiful. The sounds of Velvet’s battle had abated, it was just the two of them now. 

Shigure slashed Stormhowl in an arc that was designed to slice Rokurou in two; he nimbly dodged it and aimed a strike at Shigure’s face in retaliation, causing his elder brother to take a step back and grin.

“Not bad at all! But I’m not done yet!”

And then Rokurou stared as mana began to swirl around Shigure, weaving around his strong arms like mist, congregating and intensifying around Stormhowl’s edges like a fire. It crackled and strengthened, as Shigure’s grin widened, bringing the sword above his head to point it up at the sky.

And then the blade was slamming into the ground, and Rokurou just had time to bring his daggers up to shield his face as the shockwave hit him. It was like when Innominat had hit them, he heard himself cry out even as he was catapulted backwards, feeling like he had been set on fire. 

Hitting the ground knocked some sense back into him; he reeled on the cobblestones, blown almost back to where Velvet, Eizen and the others stood - before he noticed that the Kurogane daggers were broken, reduced to jagged scraps of metal. He stared down at them numbly, barely feeling the pain surging through him in waves. It was like that night, when he’d failed to execute Shigure, when his imitation Stormhowl had been broken. When his all-too-human heart hadn’t been able to bear the constant cycle of defeat and humiliation anymore.

“You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that.” He heard the soft slap of Shigure’s sandals on the cobblestones, looked up to see his grin turn into a disdainful sneer, eyebrows drawn into a frown. “But you’re a frickin’ daemon. Shouldn’t ya bring more to the table than ‘pretty damn good Rangetsu style’? You don’t have what it takes to win against the rightful heir.”

There it was again: the belittling, the derision, the implication that Rokurou wasn’t worthy of the Rangetsu name. That his life had been a waste of time and effort. And, quite possibly, the justification for Shigure ending his pathetic little existence.

_No! Not again! Not again!_ Bloodlust screamed in his ears, so close to taking him over, every yaksha cell in his body telling him to throw himself forward, try to rip Shigure’s throat out with his bare hands, even if Stormhowl struck him down before he could reach him. Instead, he threw away the broken dagger in his left hand, hearing it clatter against stone.

“... Don’t count me out just yet.” Rokurou charged again, exchanging blows with his last remaining shard of dagger, but being easily parried by his brother’s greatsword. Shigure knocked him away, forcing him back with the flat of his sword, just as Rokurou had known he would. 

And then Rokurou let the bloodlust take him over, sinking into its embrace once more as the world turned red, because he knew that it would help with the pain that was about to come. 

He was running towards Shigure, aware of the dagger shard in his right hand, but feeling utterly divorced from his own limbs. Almost in slow motion, Shigure lowered Stormhowl so that the tip of the blade was pointing directly at him.

And Rokurou felt his left hand raise, his palm flat, as he deliberately impaled it on the tip of his brother’s sword. Dark blood spurted as metal burst out of the back of his hand, droplets and fragments of torn flesh spraying into the air. And he kept running.

Despite the numbing bloodlust, despite all the training he’d had that’d taught him to ignore pain, Rokurou screamed as he skewered his own hand along the length of a sword that was almost as tall as he was, feeling muscle, nerve and tendon shred and metal scrape against exposed bone. Stormhowl was being turned red as his legs kept moving, closer and closer to Shigure’s astonished face. He could hear footsteps running behind him, one heavy, one lighter, but he ignored them: all he could feel was pain, and the way his right hand was drawing back to strike.

The ruin of Rokurou’s left hand slammed up against Stormhowl’s hilt, locking the sword in place. And just like that, Shigure was defenceless, his amber eyes wide.

“Take this!” Rokurou pulled his dagger back to its zenith, ready to bring it down and plunge it into Shigure’s throat, ready to dispel all of the self-doubt that had eaten him alive, ready to prove that he deserved to live. His vision blurred with hate, but he could see enough to tell where Shigure’s face was, and he brought the dagger shard down with all of his might.

And it was blocked. Rokurou stared, in a frozen detachment, at the dagger which was pressed up against the stubby blade of his own broken Stormhowl. Shigure’s strong hand gripped the hilt, where he’d grabbed it from over Rokurou’s shoulder.

Then Rokurou felt a powerful kick to his stomach at the same time that Stormhowl was wrenched back, and he was flying backward, the entire length of the greatsword passing through his tattered hand once more. This time, he barely felt it when he struck the ground, vaguely aware that Eizen and Velvet were almost trampling over him for some reason.Slowly, he used his right hand to push himself up into a sitting position, his mutilated left hand gushing blood, Shigure’s laughter ringing in his ears. 

“Haw haw! Now that was clever, giving up one of your own hands to go for my neck!” Shigure’s eyes were wide and shining, like he’d been given a new toy; he was using Rokurou’s broken sword to make a vague jabbing motion toward his own throat. “If I was just a second slower, I’d be dead now! I like it! This is what I’ve been looking for! All right, let’s call it good here.”

Just as Rokurou managed to get to an unsteady standing position, his hand dangling uselessly at his side, Shigure threw the broken sword at his feet. Rokurou stared down at the fragment of metal, as broken as his daggers, as broken as his hand, as broken as his very soul.

“Listen up!” Shigure finally deigned to address all of them, and Rokurou was aware of Velvet and Eizen at his back, almost close enough to touch; of Magilou, Laphicet and Eleanor standing a little further off. “If you want any hope of beating me, come find me once you’re more skilled and better armed!”

It was addressed to them all, on the surface. Rokurou knew who Shigure was really talking to.

“I’ll cut you down…” It was his own voice, ragged and filled with pain. “No matter how many times I lose, no matter how many years it takes.”

Shigure raised one perfect eyebrow at him, just as he had so many times during Rokurou’s childhood. It was the idea put-down, full of mocking doubt.

“There we go, that’s the face I’m lookin’ for. So vicious. It’s perfect!”

Then he laughed, turned, and walked away, as Rokurou’s head dropped to stare at the blood running through the gutters of the cobblestones.

***

Eizen would’ve preferred to have spent the night aboard the _Van Eltia,_ especially as she was now moored at the docks, waiting to take them to Yseult in Southgand. But he’d been outvoted, and he could understand why. It had been one hell of a long day, and Velvet’s party wasn't as comfortable in hammocks as him and his crew.

So here they were, housed in Port Cadnix’s inn for the night. Ironically, the only person who would be spending the night aboard ship was Kurogane, who had begged Rokurou for the opportunity to accompany him and forge more swords. More evidence of a daemon’s obsessions, and how consuming they could be.

Eizen had taken the bed by the window again, the curtains thrown back to reveal the night sky. The room was smaller than the one in Tabatha’s tavern in Loegres, but cozy and traditionally-decorated; Eizen liked it. It was lit by candlelight, and he’d found it a good place to lie back, relax, and enjoy some peace and quiet. As social as he was, even he needed some time to himself on occasion.

Seemingly, Rokurou was the same. As soon as he’d been convinced that his hand was fully healed by Laphicet - a minor miracle in itself; Rokurou’s visible eye had been glassy with the pain of reducing his own hand to tatters, once the adrenaline had worn off - he’d disappeared to the inn’s courtyard in order to train. Eizen wasn’t sure what had been more appealing to him: some time alone to lick his wounds, or the prospect of becoming stronger for the next time he met his brother. He highly suspected the latter, however.

_And to think that I always envied humans for having families._ Eizen sighed, casting his mind off to a distant mountain, and of the malak girl who lived there alone. _I always thought it would be like having a shell around you, a protective shield of people who love you no matter what. Seems that’s not always the case._

The latch on the door lifted, and Rokurou silently moved into the room, his broken greatsword in his right hand. The candlelight flickered shadows on his face, and Eizen tried to remember the last time he’d seen the daemon smile: not since the Brigid Ravine, right at the start of this incredibly long day. Seeing Rokurou go that long without smiling was unsettling.

“Hey Eizen.”

“Rokurou.” Eizen watched him lean the greatsword against the wall, as close to the pillow as possible as was his habit, before he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. He was much quieter than usual, idly rubbing at his left hand. Most likely, the skin was still knitting itself back together; an uncomfortable sensation in Eizen’s experience. “How’re you feeling?”

Rokurou shrugged. “Yeah, I’m cool. Hand kinda aches, but the gels helped… I guess.”

Eizen had to hide a smile; Rokurou had strongly objected to having to eat the gels, but there wasn’t much denying that they were effective. “You’ll be back to normal by the morning.”

“Yeah.” Rokurou looked visibly exhausted, but he still made no move to lay himself down, filled with a restless energy. “Eizen, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” Eizen drew in a breath; he’d been waiting for this.

“Why did you and Velvet arrange between yourselves to take Shigure down?” Rokurou looked up from his hand, meeting Eizen’s eyes, his amber eye unreadable. “Kind of would’ve liked to be asked about that.”

“I know. But there was no way that you could’ve killed him by yourself, Rokurou.” Eizen said the words plainly, feeling no need to sugarcoat it, despite the narrowing of Rokurou’s eye. “We had to do something to stop you from dying.”

“Then you should’ve let me die!” Rokurou said fiercely, his voice roughened into a near-growl, and it actually made Eizen start. After today, he shouldn’t be surprised at how quickly Rokurou’s state of mind could change. “Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said today? This is my fight, not anyone else’s! I need to kill Shigure, and if I can’t do it, then I don’t deserve to survive it!”

“This really is your whole life, isn’t it?” Eizen kept his voice calm. As keen as he was to test Rokurou’s fighting abilities, this wasn’t the time nor the place. “You hate your own brother that much?”

“Yeah, I do. Same way you hate Melchior. The difference is that I’ve had a whole lifetime of Shigure.”

Eizen eyed him, felt the malevolence level in the room rise, his skin crawling in response. “You said that you don’t have any emotions… but you still have two things you feel, don’t you?”

Rokurou’s silence was all the confirmation Eizen needed; the daemon regarded him, the left side of his face in the candlelight’s shadow.

“Hate and bitterness. You feel both of those, don’t you?”

A nod. “Yeah. I feel those.”

“How is that fair? That you can feel bitterness and hate, but not happiness, or love?” Eizen leaned back; no wonder Rokurou was so consumed by his resentment towards his brother. All he could do was endlessly spiral in a whirlpool of his own hate; there couldn’t be forgiveness for whatever his brother had done to him. Eizen had always considered himself an emotional being, a creature of passion - he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to feel nothing, to be a blank slate, until a stab of hate sparked something within him.

“I’m a yaksha. Can’t have a war without anger and hate. Not much room for happiness or love.” Rokurou was calm again - there was no self-pity in his voice, just a statement of fact.

“But it’s specifically the hate toward your brother that you feel.”

“I guess they were the only feelings that the daemonblight didn’t take away. I don’t feel other negative emotions, like jealousy and fear. But bitterness and hate are all I’ve got left.” Rokurou looked up, seemingly at the wooden slats of the ceiling. “That’s what he gave me, back when I was a kid.”

“I could see that when you fought him,” Eizen said softly, more softly than he’d spoken in years. “Rokurou… we didn’t want to get involved in your affairs. But we didn’t want to lose you, either.”

Rokurou looked at him, almost startled. For a moment, he looked even younger than he was. “Really?”

“Really. You’re not just some useful tool. You’re you.”

Rokurou blinked, his eyes wide. Then he smiled.

Eizen smiled back at him. He couldn’t deny that the depth of Rokurou’s obsession with Shigure still concerned him - from what he’d said today, and from what Eizen had witnessed, his hate of his brother had caused him to literally give up his own humanity in order to kill him. He’d willingly sacrificed his hand to his hatred; had almost sacrificed his life. It was no wonder that he’d become a daemon with a hatred that strong; Rokurou’s transformation had been inevitable.

Malevolence which ran so deep was always a concern, not just because of the toxicity which threatened to seep through Eizen’s skin, corrupting him just as surely as Rokurou had been, but because of the effect it would have on Rokurou himself. He didn’t know just how rare he was: a daemon who had kept his sense of reason and mostly-human appearance was one in a million - for a yaksha, a daemon dominated by violence and death, it was extraordinary. Eizen didn’t want to see him slide into a deeper daemonhood, a place he couldn’t come back from. He’d seen multiple examples today of how easy it would be.

At the same time, Eizen had had a taste of what happened when Rokurou let go of his control… and he couldn’t help admitting that it had been intoxicating. Seeing Rokurou today with his eye ablaze, revelling in the carnage he was creating with his own body, wild and spirited… it had reminded Eizen of a storm. When Rokurou had been fighting Shigure at the docks, all he’d been able to think of was standing on the deck of the _Van Eltia,_ letting rain pour down upon him. Rokurou was a force of nature, savage and masculine, and the thought of it made his stomach swim.

Eizen wanted to experience that wildness himself, wanted to fight Rokurou, just the two of them. He wanted to dance those beautiful, twisting steps, close enough that they would be able to catch the scent of each other’s sweat. He wanted to feel Rokurou’s body under his fists, delivering blow after blow after blow. 

He wanted Rokurou to yield to him, exhausted. He wanted to tame him. And then he wanted to claim him.

_Ohhhh shit._ Eizen stared at Rokurou’s smiling face, feeling the traitorous twitching of his loins. _No no no no no. Shit. Shit fucking shitballs shit._

Even worse, his mind had slyly delivered the words in Rokurou’s voice.

_No. Gods, don’t do this to me; no._

“You okay, dude? You seem kinda horrified.” Rokurou was looking at him quizzically, his head slightly tilted, smiling in confusion. It was _adorable._

The worst part was that Eizen couldn’t pass this off as a random thought, a passing infatuation which had just flitted through his mind like a butterfly. He realised now that he’d had these feelings since that moment he’d been standing on the deck of the _Van Eltia,_ and the wind had blown Rokurou’s hair away from his face. Even though he’d found the daemonic eye startling, he’d seen Rokurou properly for the first time - and he’d been beautiful.

More images pushed into his mind. Rokurou naked at his side. The way he’d eaten sweet potatoes. When he’d been injured, and Eizen had dashed to his aid. Training on a clifftop with a pole in his hands.His brain had neatly memorised them and filed them away, knowing that they were scenes he’d want to dwell on later, preferably when he was alone.

Eizen felt ill.

“I’m fine,” he forced out. “Had some fish for dinner. Stomach cramp.”

“Oh. Ew.” Rokurou smiled that lazy, sexy smile again. “Don’t you be doing fish farts.”

“I’ll… try not to.” Eizen fought the urge to slip his hand into his pocket, to bring out the golden coin and flip it. There was no need; he knew what the answer would be. His curse had caused him to yearn after Aifread, who hadn’t loved him back. Now there was Rokurou, who couldn’t love anyone or anything.

Sometimes, his curse could be incredibly cruel.

“Cool. Well, I’m going to get undressed and settle down, so you might want to turn around and stuff.” Rokurou stood up, started to unbuckle the plate metal at his shoulder.

Eizen stared up at him, then spun around on the bed so quickly that it made him go dizzy. He stared fixedly out of the window, into a pitch-black night.

This couldn’t go anywhere. It just couldn’t; it was physically impossible. There was malevolence to consider, for a start; it was literally toxic to him. Plus, there was the consideration of his own rapidly-beating heart - he’d only just freed it of the pain caused by his infatuation with Aifread. He’d promised himself that he would never do that again, couldn’t go through with that again. 

Rokurou had told him, just mere minutes ago, that he was utterly incapable of experiencing love. Eizen wanted someone who could give him the love he needed; the love he’d wanted to feel ever since he’d been born alone on a high mountain peak.

_But if he can feel hate, could he feel love after all?_ It was a whisper through his mind, one that he should’ve ignored… but one that some part of him hesitantly reached for, delicately held between his fingers like it was a dandelion seed on the breeze.

Eizen blinked, and realised that he was staring into his own crystal blue eyes. The darkness outside the window, combined with the candlelight inside, was preventing him from looking out through the glass - instead, it simply reflected. 

His own pale face was in the corner of the pane… and behind him was Rokurou, his back turned, kimono and armour already removed. His long dark hair ran along his spine, the muscles in his back tensing as he bent to remove his hakama. Eizen watched as he stepped out of the garment, completely nude again, looked at his rounded, sensual rear. Watched as Rokurou bent over to pull back his bedsheets.

He could’ve closed his eyes.

He didn’t.


	5. The Song In His Soul

Eizen listened to the raindrops dripping through the heavy, mossy foliage of Warg Forest, as he pulled his sodden shirt and waistcoat away from his stomach, and tried to wring them out. A dribble of water welled up and fell away; the material somehow felt even more uncomfortable and wet once it was against his skin again. Typical.

He suspected that he’d had the worst of the weather - it was amazing how many times a branch would become overloaded with rainwater and collapse just as he was walking beneath it - but everyone looked bedraggled to some degree.

Velvet wore so little in the way of actual clothing that it was difficult to judge how soaked through she was, but her thick plait of hair seemed to drag heavily. Laphicet looked as if he’d been lightly splashed. Rokurou was as cheerful as ever despite his kimono being visibly drenched; his hair was so shaggy that the water had barely made any impression upon it. Magilou looked suspiciously bone-dry, and smug with it. And Eleanor shivered in damp clothing, her red hair trailing down in rat tails.

But even as their feet squelched through the waterlogged moss and lichen beneath their feet, Eizen couldn’t help but feel a little warmed. When his crew had gone down with the corsair’s scourge, he’d half-expected Velvet to commandeer his ship, and sail off without them. True, it helped that Eleanor had also gone down with it - Velvet was far less likely to take risks with the exorcist’s life, given that she was Laphicet’s vessel - but she’d barely complained about the unexpected detour to Westgand.

_Perhaps my Reaper’s Curse decided to give me a break after all._

He doubted it. The curse always knew what he feared the most.

After all, he’d lost count of the ways his curse had screwed him over in the last couple of days - even Eleanor had caught on to how much everyone was commenting on it, even if she did appear to be sceptical about its veracity. First, the corsair’s scourge had hit his crew out of nowhere, men coming down with a high fever at an alarming rate. It had forced them to alter their course to Port Reneed - a place Eizen knew well, and somewhere he hadn’t been in a hurry to visit thanks to its permanently awful weather - in order to buy some doses of sale’tomah flower oil from the apothecary. 

Of course, life couldn’t be that simple. Not only was the apothecary out of stock, but he was unable to procure more thanks to an Abbey order banning residents from the Warg Forest, on account of the vicious and mysterious daemon that was roaming the place. What should’ve been a quick trip to the store had turned into a potentially deadly expedition, whilst Eizen wondered if his men were crumbling like sand yet.

The worst part was that his biggest worry was walking alongside him, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Most likely because he genuinely didn’t.

“Perfect weather for fighting dangerous daemons, right?” Rokurou chirped in a tone which was far more buoyant than anyone had the right to be in this weather, a grin on his face that was met by a groan from Velvet and an intake of breath from Eleanor.

Eizen just grunted.

A few days ago, it had been Rokurou who’d been tense and stressed, whilst Eizen had felt light of heart: how quickly the roles could reverse. Since his realisation in the Port Cadnix inn, Eizen had had a million thoughts, questions, and images roiling around within him. He’d barely slept that night, laying alone in the dark, listening to Rokurou’s quiet, shallow breaths. It hadn’t been the first time he’d felt like that, recognising it as being the same as the day he’d realised how he’d felt about Aifread - the same racing thoughts, uncertainty, and vulnerability; none of which he ever liked experiencing. 

With Aifread, he’d let it consume him. He’d agonised over his own thoughts, had tried to think everything through logically and sensibly. He’d faced it head on… and all it had led to was rejection, an unspoken sadness and regret. Aifread had known what was on his mind as clearly as if Eizen had shouted it in his ear, but it had still come to naught, because it never could’ve gone anywhere. 

This time, as it stood, Eizen was more than happy in his own denial. If he’d thought that having some kind of relationship with Aifread would be difficult, then Rokurou was in stratospheric levels of impossibility. He was a yaksha; even putting his other difficulties aside, he was a daemon emitting a malevolence which was toxic to Eizen’s body. He could draw a line under it right there; there was no point even debating the matter, let alone pursuing it. He’d just have to block those tiresome, hormonal urges out, even if the man was breathtakingly handsome, with a slender body which was toned in all the right places, especially around the-

_No. Shut up, shut up._

“I don’t see what’s so exciting about fighting monsters, and putting our lives at risk,” Eleanor said primly, despite her bedraggled appearance. The ribbons in her hair hung like wet noodles. “We fight to protect others, not for enjoyment of the battle.”

Rokurou laughed. “Speak for yourself! See, this is why everyone else thinks humans are the most boring species.”

It was a tease, but Eizen noticed Eleanor’s mouth tighten. “Spoken like a true daemon.”

Her Abbey bias was clearly still intact. Even after the time she’d spent around Velvet and Rokurou, she still spoke of daemons as creatures who needed to be “exterminated”, like a cockroach infestation. All the while she held that opinion, as well as her belief that malakhim were tools to be used, Eizen didn’t trust her.

Plus, she kept unknowingly treading on his toes when it came to his knowledge of history, and he would’ve been a liar if he’d said that his ego wasn’t a _little_ bit bruised. Especially when everyone had seemed so impressed with her familiarity on Kharlan coins; he’d had to wing that one.

“Hey, Eizen.” A voice, casual and non-committal, broke him out of his grumpy reverie.

“... Hey, Rokurou.”

“Y’know, out of absolutely everyone here,” Rokurou started with a grin, droplets of water glistening in his hair like dew, “I think you might be the wettest.”

Eizen gritted his teeth. “Is ‘stating the obvious’ a yaksha thing, too?”

“Are you sure you’re not a water malak?”

“No, definitely earth. It’s that brown, stony substance under your feet, and if you keep going, I’ll bury you in it.”

Rokurou laughed, leaning forward to shake a sagging branch before they walked under it; Eizen appreciated the gesture.”You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Because I’ve got sake.” Rokurou looked conspiratorial. “Next time we stop, I’m busting it out. That’ll warm you up, at least. Plus, I can tell you’re worrying. Concerned about your crew?”

Eizen looked over at him, at the easy, relaxed smile on his young face, his bright, clear eye. When such kindness came so easily to him, almost without thinking, it could be hard to remember that he was a daemon through and through. A pang hit his heart: he desperately tried to ignore it.

“Aye…” It was easier to pretend that the fate of his crew was the only concern in his mind. “The corsair’s scourge is a terrible affliction. I’ve seen it affect more men than I should’ve… and it’s not a pleasant way to go. Better to be taken by the sharks.”

“I heard about that. Makes people’s bodies fall apart, right?”

Eizen nodded. “One moment they’re there, suffering, then they’re crumbling into the very air, slipping through your fingers. The first time I saw it… it shocked me to the core.” And he’d blamed himself for it; his very presence on the ship. He could still see the crewman’s face, young, dark-haired, crying for his mother. He hadn’t been the last he’d seen die that way, and Eizen considered himself responsible for every single case - the thought of Benwick and his current crew sharing the same fate was simply unacceptable to him, especially on his watch. Wherever Aifread was, he would be expecting Eizen to look after his men to the best of his ability, and it was a responsibility he would not fail in.

Rokurou was silent at the thought of that, so Eizen attempted to steer the subject away.

“I’m surprised you know of it, and sale’tomah as well. I didn’t have you down as someone who’s been on the seas a great deal.”

“I haven’t, not really; just short voyages between Midgand, Northgand, and Westgand. I know of the corsair’s scourge because of the prison ship.” 

Of course; Eizen kept forgetting that. Titania Island was a long way from any of the inhabited parts of the Empire - Rokurou would’ve had to be transported on a journey lasting at least a few days. “You had an outbreak on board?”

“Nah, they just liked to scare us with it.” Rokurou’s voice was as breezy and relaxed as ever. “Must’ve been about twenty of us, chained up below decks. The crew liked to come down and tell us that they thought there might be a corsair’s scourge outbreak, and how we’d catch it one by one, until there’d only be dust left when we got to Titania. They said they wouldn’t waste their sale’tomah on us.”

“I wish I could say that such cruelty surprises me.” As much as humanity fascinated Eizen, as much as he enjoyed being close to them, the depths that they could sink to never ceased to dismay him. “You must’ve been scared.”

“I guess so, I suppose.” Rokurou met his eyes, still smiling, and Eizen realised that he genuinely had no idea. “Mostly just didn’t like not bein’ able to move. Had chains around my wrists and ankles, and another around my neck. And have you ever spent six days in a tiny space with nineteen other guys? Gets gross in there pretty fast!”

“I can imagine,” Eizen muttered, frowning as his boot sank into a particularly deep puddle. The thought of being in such a place was bad enough; the thought of Rokurou being forced into chains, surrounded by strangers and kept in a constant state of fear made his blood boil. He’d looted an empty prison ship once, and seen the conditions that convicts were kept in; they were dark places of suffering and despair. The very wood of the ship had been seeped in malevolence, almost overflowing with it.

Eizen had a mental list of people he’d look out for, and punish one day. He silently added _‘anyone who ever served on a prison ship’._

“It sucked. But I’ve got my freedom now, right?” Rokurou shook his hair free of raindrops; they scattered off him like diamonds. “I get to choose where I go. Kinda cool.”

“Right now, I need you to choose to go wherever sale’tomah flowers are.” Eizen hadn’t been aware of Velvet listening in on them; it still reminded him of a human giving her dog’s leash a sharp yank, even if it were one Rokurou was comfortable with.

“We’ll find ‘em.” That lopsided grin was on his face again. “I’m just hoping we find this daemon first.”

“By the way, do you know what sale’tomah means in the language of flowers?” Magilou asked, in a tone of voice which suggested that she knew exactly what they meant. Eizen would put money on it being something obscene. 

Eleanor seemed to be racking her brains as she walked, a bird cawing somewhere in the distance. “Was it ‘deceitful coexistence’?”

“What’s with that? Even its symbolism is awful.” Eizen was inclined to agree with Velvet.

Laphicet murmured to himself, as Magilou gloated over him. “Deceitful… coexistence…”

“The perfect flower for us.”

_Are we deceitful?_

Eizen opened his mouth to say, _no we don’t deceive each other_ \- but then Rokurou looked at him over his shoulder, smiling, water dripping down from his black bangs. Completely guileless and content. Unaware. And suddenly, Eizen couldn’t get the words out. He was very aware that he was deceiving himself just as much as he was Rokurou.

Even worse, Magilou raised a smug eyebrow at him.

_But that’s the way it’s got to be_ , he thought grimly, pushing down his own unhappiness, and slogging on through the rain and mud. _It’s easier this way._

***

It felt so good to be fighting and killing again.

True, it was only the flora and fauna of Warg Forest, but Rokurou decided that it was better than nothing. After a run of thwarted, halted battles, and then his defeats at Shigure’s hands, he’d needed the simple, bloodletting release of plunging his daggers so deep into a boar’s neck that blood splashed up to his shoulders.

_Besides, I’ve earned it,_ he thought with the tiniest glimmer of satisfaction. _I persuaded Velvet not to eat the kid’s beetle, so I get to kill stuff in return. All works out in some kinda karmic way, right?_

Plus, the boy needed a pet - Rokurou still remembered the time he’d found a puppy, alone and shivering, on the road that led to the Rangetsu estate. He’d been about eight or nine; he’d scooped the pup up and carried it all the way home, talking to it, deciding on names. Shigure had caught him almost as soon as he’d arrived, and she’d made him walk all the way back to where he found it, telling him to leave the pup there. He’d had to walk away, hearing the howls and cries. 

And it was a fine-looking beetle. If Rokurou had been capable of jealousy, then he was pretty sure that he would’ve been green with it. Never mind that it had the ability to turn into a giant version of itself, and that the Abbey had kept it in some sort of mystical cage; that was incidental to how _freakin’ cool it was_ , in his opinion.

So Rokurou was pretty sure that he deserved some kills for his good behaviour, though nothing really compared to killing something a bit more human-looking, whether it were a human, a malak, or a daemon. There was just something more satisfying about defeating a being with similar intelligence and skill to himself; analysing their fighting technique and adapting his own to overcome it, learning and improving his skills. Perhaps he could be accused of sacrificing the lives of others in his fervour to improve himself - but, he thought as a mild ache passed through his left hand, it was worth every one.

_Maybe Eizen could do with killing something. He’s being… weird._

He honestly couldn’t think of a better word for it: even now, as he glanced across, Eizen was stomping along in his heavy leather boots, staring gloomily at the forest floor. Rokurou didn’t think it was just the weather, even if the pirate was amusingly drenched - he just seemed to be utterly consumed by whatever was on his mind. Eizen had a tendency to be moody, overly buried in his own thoughts and whirling emotions, but since they’d left Port Cadnix, he’d taken it to a new level. He didn’t seem to be admitting to anything bothering him, other than the uncertain fate of his crew - understandable enough under the circumstances, but Rokurou had noticed that his funk had begun before the outbreak.

_Maybe his curse is bothering him,_ Rokurou thought, barely noticing as his sandal landed in a puddle with a wet slap. _Everyone seems to be bringing it up lately; gotta be a kick in the teeth._

But it was true; Eizen’s curse had been quite the topic of conversation since the corsair’s scourge had broken out on board the _Van Eltia._ Magilou had seemingly taken great pleasure in placing the blame squarely on the curse’s shoulders, and Eleanor had been querying if it was even real. Rokurou had seen the malak almost flinch every time it had been brought up, as if there were something or someone in particular that he was concerned about - Benwick, he supposed. Eventually, after they’d defeated the beetle and when Eizen’s emotions had practically sizzled in Rokurou’s senses, he’d finally let slip a little of what was on his mind.

_“I can count on one hand how many have survived more than three years at my side. If you’re not careful, you might wind up as Corpse Number 50.”_ Eizen’s words to Eleanor rang through Rokurou’s mind, committed to memory. He supposed that most people would be scared by it, would immediately have concerns for their own safety.

Rokurou just hoped it meant that lots of daemons and battles would be headed their way, as if Eizen were a malak bait ball. 

It didn’t seem to be have cleared his mind though; even now, on their way back out of the forest, he’d been ranting about how the scent of a sale’tomah lured you in with sweet attractiveness, before its two flavours clashed once you’d let it in. And he’d been pretty fast to change the subject when Eleanor had been asking questions about daemonblight. 

_Ehhh. He can be as weird as he likes. That’s cool with me._

Rokurou’s sharp ears caught the whiff of a conversation about bugs: he immediately dropped back to where Laphicet was examining his new pet alongside a surprisingly-eager Bienfu. This was his kind of conversation: bugs weren’t quite as cool as yaks, but what was?

“Yeah, I’ve been around a long time, but I’ve never seen anything like it.” Bienfu was gazing at the beetle, his eyes peering through the holes cut into his hat. Rokurou liked the normin; he couldn’t help it. How often did he get to see his childhood toys in real life?

“It must be a new species.” The beetle lifted its little head at the sound of Laphicet’s voice, just like a puppy. Even Eizen seemed to have taken an interest, rousing himself from his melancholy to glance over.

“Incredible!” Rokurou said admiringly.

Eizen nodded, almost managing to look happy. “A new species is usually named after the person who discovered it. The Laphicet rhinoceros beetle, then?”

“Rhinoceros beetle?” The words sprang from Rokurou’s lips without thinking, with more of a note of incredulity than he’d intended. “Whoa now! That’s a stag beetle if I ever saw one.”

“No,” Eizen said flatly, as if there were no debate on the matter. “Those things may look like pincers, but they’re actually horns. A three-horned beetle will cause quite the stir in the bug community.”

_Wait, there’s a bug community? And Eizen’s part of it?_ Rokurou wasn’t sure which part surprised him more. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been though - Eizen had his serious, font-of-all-knowledge, I-know-better-than-you face on.The man loved to consider himself an expert on everything, loved to think that he automatically knew the best course of action on anything ever.

Rokurou knew that he should leave it here. It was just the name of a _bug._ But he couldn’t resist, not when Eizen’s oh-so-serious face was there, just waiting for Rokurou to blow a metaphorical raspberry in it. Some temptations just couldn’t be resisted.

“Hey, I know pincers when I see them, and those were some mighty pincers. The Laphicet stag beetle! It has a better ring to it, right?”

“What part of that sounds better?” Eizen had taken the bait - hook, line, sinker, and the entire fishing boat.

Rokurou could practically feel the glint in his own eye. “The whole thing! Stag beetles are the strongest, after all.”

“I can’t let that go unchallenged.” Eizen was almost bristling. “The rhinoceros is the king of beetledom!”

“Beetledom? More like beetle-dumb.”

“Huh? That doesn’t help your case at all!” 

_He’s taking this so seriously!_ Rokurou thought, relishing every moment. Not just because it was a chance to poke fun at Eizen, which was undoubtedly one of his favourite things about traveling with this group, but because it was sparring of a sort. The arguments, the verbal ripostes, the aggression… Rokurou found himself enjoying it far more than he should, wanting to fight Eizen on this for as long as possible; he could even feel the stirrings of bloodlust in him again, and that coiling feeling in the pit of his belly.

“Rokurou… Eizen…” Laphicet sounded vaguely pleading, as Bienfu hid behind him. No matter; Rokurou only had eyes for Eizen now.

“The rhino is a one-trick pony with its horn, but a stag can cut its opponents in half. Its weapons can be used in any situation. The stag is a true swordsman.”

“That’s petty trickery.” Eizen’s ire was still on the rise. “The only beetle with the raw muscle to decide its own fate is the rhino.”

_Oh, he wants to get into details? Little does he know that I used to watch bugs all the time back on the estate. You’re going_ down.

“But they only live for a year. The stag can survive through the winter.” There; the ultimate fact for the ultimate beetle. There could be no coming back from that. It was the equivalent of a dagger through the neck, and Rokurou began to feel a sensation of satis-

“They live hard and die young! Is the beauty of such a life lost on you?”

He wasn’t giving up. They actually glared at each other, only to reunite when Velvet compared beetles to cockroaches, snapping in unison.

“They’re totally different!”

_Well, let him think that he's still in this fight. I’ll get the final word in the end._ Rokurou tossed his head, as they trudged closer to the outskirts of the forest. _Next time we fight, I’ll be the winner._

***

Eizen was gone again, chasing after Zaveid once more. 

If Rokurou hadn’t been aware of Eizen’s depth of feeling toward his Captain Aifread, he probably would’ve jumped to an incorrect conclusion regarding Eizen’s motives. Not that he would’ve blamed him; Rokurou was happy to admit that Zaveid was both good-looking, and highly tempting. He’d always had a weakness for people with strong hands, and the wind malak qualified in spades.

This time, he’d turned up with an unfamiliar artefact - or unfamiliar to Rokurou, anyway. Eizen had recognised it straight away, and had made threats of getting Zaveid to talk whether he liked it or not, which had frankly made Rokurou lick his lips. But whatever the item was, Zaveid had held it to his own head, pressing his finger against a curved sliver of metal at the bottom. Mana had shot into him, and the malak had been gone, as fast as the whirlwind he liked to name himself after.

Eizen hadn’t hesitated, not even at the thought of his sickly crew. Given how much stress the situation had seemed to be causing him during their trek through the Warg Forest, Rokurou had been surprised.

If anything, it just brought home how little he knew Eizen, even if they did consider each other friends. It was enough to send a fragment of disquiet through him, though he wasn’t really sure why.

Either way, all they knew was that Eizen was headed to Lothringen, a tower which served as a training base for exorcists. Of all the places in Midgand that he possibly could’ve headed. It was possibly one of the worst: filled with Abbey officials who would no doubt have been provided with a description of them all after their confrontation with Artorius. Though the thought of fighting off hordes of exorcists in order to save Eizen was a fairly enticing one; so was the thought of a battle with Zaveid.

Laphicet sighed loudly, as they walked through a crevice in a rocky outcrop, separating the fens from the tower’s approach. He did that a lot: Rokurou had worked out long ago that it was simply his way of starting a conversation.

“What’s wrong, Laphicet?” Eleanor took the bait. She seemed calmer now that she’d dried off a little; Velvet was studiously ignoring the conversation as per usual, driving their pace forward.

“I was just wondering why Eizen and Zaveid can’t work together to find Aifread.”

Magilou swung in, uninvited. “All men their age care about is their reputation, their street cred. Such a hassle.”

“Oh… really?” Laphicet looked up at him with questioning eyes, and Rokurou was suddenly aware of gazes being turned on him. He almost could’ve sworn that Velvet had eyes in the back of her head, which suddenly focused on him.

_This is what happens when you’re the only guy in a group full of women and kids. I’m younger than Eizen though, right? Thirty is, like, old._

“Well,” he started warily, “I can’t fully deny it.”

“The same could be said of women… and of everyone, really,” Eleanor said in a reasonable tone. “It’s hard to work alongside someone unless you strive to understand their thoughts and feelings.”

_Thoughts and feelings… but what if you don’t have that many feelings?_ For some reason, Eleanor’s words bothered Rokurou. Sure, it made sense - that was partly why he liked to ask questions of his new companions when he detected that they were particularly emotional. Those experiences were absent within himself, so listening to someone else’s thoughts helped him to shape a sense of them in his mind, like a blind man feeling an unfamiliar object, learning its texture and form. And in turn, he got to know them better.

But, just as he’d wondered if he really knew Eizen, could it be the same in reverse? Did Eizen really understand him? _Could_ he understand him, when Rokurou didn’t have the same thoughts and feelings as everyone else? Did that mean they’d never really know each other?

Rokurou hadn’t had many friends in his life; he didn’t want to lose his only one. It didn’t help that he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight Eizen, or do something else with him. Thoughts were okay, but feelings and words… that was all murky and tangled.

Laphicet was still thinking. “And if you can’t?”

Rokurou shrugged. “It’s like Zaveid said. You start talking with your fists instead.”

They cleared the rocky outcrop and exited out onto a windy plateau - and Velvet started as they saw an exorcist camp ahead of them, a familiar figure standing amongst scattered bodies on the ground, the wind whipping both his blonde hair and black coat.

Rokurou felt his system settle even as they walked towards him; he supposed it was relief.

Laphicet was certainly relieved; the boy ran towards his fellow malak like a pup seeing its owner. “Eizen!”

The pirate glanced up, saw them all. Just as had been the case for the past couple of days, he seemed to be unable to make eye contact with Rokurou, and it just confused the daemon further.

“Did you get the medicine to the ship’s crew?” No explanations, no apologies. Very Eizen.

“Yeah!” Laphicet cried happily, as the rest of them caught up with him. Eizen nodded, as Rokurou bent down to examine one of the bodies; he was pretty sure he could hear breathing, and there were only faint traces of blood on the breeze. Not enough.

“Good. My thanks to you.”

Rokurou looked up. “These soldiers won’t be happy in the morning, but they’re alive. Is this your work?”

Eizen stared down at the crumpled form closest to him. “No, they were like this when I got here. It must have been Zaveid.”

“He didn’t kill a single one. Interesting.” Velvet had that look on her face, the one that spoke of many cogs turning in her sharp mind, and Rokurou couldn’t help but concur.

“The Abbey is going to great lengths to arrest him.”

Rokurou had aimed the words at Eizen; instead, the malak turned to address Velvet, blonde strands blown across his cheeks. There was a chill breeze up on this plateau.

“Even so, he clearly knows he’s walking into a trap. What I don’t get is why he roped me into all of this. If he didn’t want my help, then what need did he have to play the Aifread card on me?”

Eleanor stared at him. “If you knew this was a trap, why did you come?” 

“To see for myself.” Eizen turned his back on them all, walked a couple of paces toward the edge of the plateau, as if he were admiring the view. Rokurou couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine it: sharp-eyed, but worry-worn. “When I met Aifread, I was wallowing in despair that I would ever find a way to break the Reaper’s Curse.”

The mention of Aifread had triggered something within him, Rokurou could feel it vibrating beneath his words like a low hum. It wasn’t the heartsick guilt of before, the times he’d mentioned the captain before their fight with Artorius - this was much more confused, like a remembrance combined with doubt and anger. And slowly, Eizen turned his head towards him, his blue eyes moving as if he were going to make eye contact… before they shied away again, his face turning away.

_“‘Stop denying reality’,_ he told me.” Eizen breathed the words out, with the barest shudder. _“‘If you were really born with that curse, then it’s a part of you. But if the Reaper learns to grasp the wheel of his life, even he may find his creed, his path through stormy waters.’_ And so I joined him aboard the Van Eltia.”

Even though his words described an event that had helped him, given him life - his shoulders slumped, as if defeated. And Rokurou was suddenly glad that the daemonblight which had corrupted his body had inadvertently made him immortal and unaging.

He was pretty certain that it would take him the whole of eternity to figure Eizen out.

***

Time stood still.

For Eizen, everything and everyone - _almost_ everyone - except the man in front of him, ceased to exist. He felt almost wobbly with the rush of emotion; wanted to grab on to Rokurou’s arm. More than anything, he wanted to shout his joy, his relief. Instead, a quiet name fell from his lips, in hushed awe.

“Aifread…”

It was him; it was really him, after all this time. He was chained to some kind of pillory in the middle of Lothringen Tower, battered, bruised, and looking at least ten years older than he was, but he was alive. Aifread was gloriously alive.

Eizen had half-expected his old feelings for the man to come rushing back at the sight of him - had been dreading it - but all he felt was new kind of affection, a brotherly love which felt so much healthier even to himself. Aifread was his captain, the man who’d saved his life both physically and metaphorically, and he could love him freely for that. It was the most wonderful release.

“So this is Van Aifread…” Velvet sounded both curious and cautious as Eizen walked towards the pirate, his boots almost echoing in the round chamber. There would be a trap; they all knew it. Even as he took each step, he held his breath, half-expecting something to trigger. But as long as they got Aifread and themselves out of it, any trap was worth springing.

Almost as if he sensed his subordinate’s presence, Aifread’s scarred face lifted, a smile starting to curl at the edge of a mouth framed by his beard. Then his eyes opened, and the familiar sight almost stopped Eizen in his tracks. Dark amber eyes; just a couple of shades more dusky than Rokurou’s. They were tired, but they recognised him immediately.

“Eizen… it’s good to see you again.”

The malak could’ve dropped to his knees and wept. Aside from the joy of seeing Aifread again, he had kept his promise and fulfilled his responsibility. He could take Aifread back to the _Van Eltia,_ back to Benwick and the crew, and life could go back to how it had been before. He could escape back to the oceans, the sparkling seas on a sunny day, escape all the thoughts and fears that plagued him. It would be easier that way.

Aifread would help him escape the Reaper’s Curse once more. 

“So you’re alive.” Eizen couldn’t help a smile, a jest. “You could’ve sent a letter.”

Aifread laughed, a weakened affair, and a shadow of the booming laugh he’d used to have. No matter: Eizen and the crew would help him laugh again.

“Heheh! And when have you ever written a letter to another man?”

It was a joke, based in the ridiculousness of such a concept. Just a harmless ribbing between two old friends; a bit of a laugh. As if Eizen would ever write a letter to a man!

Time froze again, but this time, it was due to the hot sheet of rage that washed over him, and the sound of his world collapsing.

_Aifread knew. He knew. He knew exactly how I felt about him, and exactly how I feel about men._

Eizen felt the very skin around his eyes tighten, felt his teeth grit so hard he thought they were going to break. And then, with a tremendous effort, he managed to banish it and put a pleasant expression on his face.

“Heh, true… Aside from my little brother, not even once.”

“Your brother?” The facsimile spoke as if confused, before he banished it even faster than Eizen had. “Ah yes, you told me that once.”

Eizen’s fist, curled up so tightly that it caused the tendons on his arms to stand out like ropes, slammed into the facsimile’s stomach. It was hard enough to be a killing blow, exactly as he’d intended. He heard gasps behind him: Laphicet, Eleanor, even Velvet, and an exhalation from Magilou. Seeing Aifread crumple like that would’ve broken his heart before; no more, and not this sad, pathetic copy.

“Eizen… why…?” Aifread sounded like a dying man.

Eizen leaned in, trained his glare over its head, and placed his mouth right by the facsimile’s ear.

“I’ve got no brother.”

Aifread disappeared, as if he’d never been. Eizen felt the spark of mana go out, just as he felt another wink into existence behind him.

“Enough of your tricks!” he roared, spinning around - and stopped dead as he saw Edna’s accusing face looking back at him. She looked so young, so vulnerable, so alone, and every bit of guilt he’d ever felt at leaving her there in the mountains came flooding back. It took his breath away.

Until a bolt of mana streaked down from above, hitting Edna squarely and transforming her into a crumpled woman on the floor, wearing the Abbey uniform and dragon mask of a tethered malak. Eizen felt a gasp rip out of him, jerking his head upwards.

Zaveid waved back at him, cheerily, poking his head and torso out of a window cut into the stone. Siegfried was in his hand, still glowing with expended mana.

“Thanks for luring ‘em out! I owe ya one.” He jumped down to join them, bending his knees to land perfectly on the stone tile floor. Eizen felt himself tense, saw Velvet do the same. Typically, Rokurou seemed particularly eager for a fight.

“Zaveid.” Eizen didn’t know what pissed him off more: the illusions themselves, or Zaveid seeing him as a means to flush them out. It didn’t seem to matter - Zaveid was ignoring him, looking wildly around the vast chamber.

“Now come out, you old coot!”

It only occurred to Eizen who he was referring to as Melchior revealed himself, stepping out of his shadow artes with a wave of his hand. The unconscious malak immediately turned into a point of light and retreated inside her master, summoned back to be revived.

The anger which had been building since he’d seen through the facsimile of Aifread grew white hot - _Melchior! You dare taunt the Reaper? I’ll get the information I want from you even if I have to shove my hand down your throat, and drag it out myself!_

Only a warning look from Zaveid stopped him from charging, as Eleanor stepped forward in shock.

“Lord Melchior…”

He ignored her, dismissed her as though she were an insect. As always, his voice was impassive, cool and collected, like he was disciplining a particularly dull student. This time, only Zaveid was seemingly worthy of his notice.

“Breaking through my double illusion… Impressive.”

Zaveid smiled grimly. “I make it a point not to fall for the same tricks twice.”

“I shouldn’t have let you get away last time. I won’t make that mistake again.” A burst of light emitted from the aged man; Eizen blinked to see three malakhim standing in front of him, guarding their master. One was the malak he’d punched, seemingly recovered.

_If he thinks I won’t go against my own kind, he’s wrong. I’ll kill them just as happily as I’ll kill him._

The malak staggered; Eizen took a step backward from instinct. It seemed more disorientated than anything else, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Anything in this situation could be a trick.

“Nnghh… What…? Why am I here?” The confusion sounded genuine, as the malak began tugging at the mask hiding its face, still weaving as though it were drunk. Melchior, usually so impassive and cold, raised his eyebrows.

“Her consciousness has returned? So that is its power.”

And before Eizen could say anything, do anything, Melchior had slung a bolt of pure malevolence at the malak. She screamed as though she were being boiled alive, poisoned from the inside, and Eizen realised that that was exactly what was happening to her. It was the same process as a human becoming a daemon, but he’d never seen it happen before his own eyes - her very form was twisting and warping as she gave in to the agony, and he heard bones crack as new limbs sprouted from her sides. Her voice gave out and became a roar of pure hatred; Eizen half-turned to see Rokurou staring with wide eyes - with a lurch, Eizen knew that he was recognizing and remembering the whole process.

He turned back to see a wyvern launching itself into the air, a dragon newly-born from the corrupted carcass of a malak. The fate that waited for all malakhim, should they expose themselves to humans or daemons for too long.

“He turned her into a daemon!” Velvet sounded almost as angry as Eizen felt, whereas Eleanor seemed to have fallen into panic.

“What?! This can’t be happening!”

But it was. And Eizen watched with horror as the other two malakhim succumbed to the same fate, malevolence breaking their bodies and reshaping them into wyverns in a matter of seconds. They barely even had time to cry out, and Eizen felt like screaming for them. They were gone; there was nothing he could do.

Melchior was at the door; he’d teleported without Eizen even noticing, but he locked eyes with him now.

“A chain reaction. Your ‘Reaper’s Curse’ is quite the dreadful affliction, isn’t it?”

_He knows about my curse,_ he realised. _He managed to get even that out of Aifread._

As for his assessment… Eizen couldn’t disagree.

“Don’t you run away!” Zaveid launched himself after the legate, even as Velvet ran to Eizen’s side. Rokurou was on his other side in an instant, daggers drawn, even as he heard Magilou drawling behind them.

“Heads up, wyverns coming!”

And they were: almost as if they’d communicated and coordinated, the three wyverns swooped down, screaming as they came. The party scattered; Velvet threw herself at the side of the leading wyvern, while Eizen stood his ground, readying himself to punch whatever came his way.

He didn’t have long to wait: a mouthful of wicked fangs was screeching in his face within seconds, and he took no pleasure in summoning up all of his frustration and channeling it into a punch which shook the creature’s entire head. In a flash, Rokurou was on it, slashing at the eyes and any other weak points he’d spotted, and Eizen was grateful for the company.

“Why would an exorcist create daemons?” Eleanor yelled; she was tackling the third wyvern with the help of Magilou’s artes. Her spear punctured its hide whilst Magilou froze it in place. The sounds of the screams coming from all three wyverns was deafening.

“Hey, worry about that later!” Rokurou sliced right underneath the wyvern’s throat, making it shriek and rear back. “We’ve got damn dragons to take care of!”

Eizen agreed with the sentiment, as he followed up Rokurou’s attack with a flurry of punches which left the wyvern crumpled on the floor; once more, he was grateful for how well his and Rokurou’s attacks synched up. The daemon disappeared to help Eleanor, while Eizen diverted to Velvet, and even though he’d been trying to avoid the sight or thought of Rokurou over the last couple of days, he suddenly found that he missed having him at his side.

Velvet had brought out her daemon hand, and between that and Laphicet’s artes, the wyvern didn’t know where to dodge. Fortunately it ducked right into Eizen’s fists, and a couple of pummels knocked the fight out of it. Velvet leapt in to deliver the coup de grace, inflicting a scoring slash along its flank which had it down for the count; glancing over, Eizen could see that the other dragon had been similarly dealt with. It had almost been an unfair fight, against creatures who were newly transformed into daemons; they had been filled with savagery, but it stemmed from the trauma they’d been through. They were lost, unthinking. 

Amusingly, it seemed that Melchior himself had been easier to deal with than expected. Over by the grand doorway, the legate was wrapped in the long, black cord of Zaveid’s pendulum, the malak watching over him intently. 

Eizen grinned, a cold, unfeeling grin. He was looking forward to talking with Melchior.

But first, there was business to attend to. He glanced over at Velvet - as usual, she seemed to know what he was thinking without the need for verbal communication. The wyverns were still on the floor, waving their wings feebly, and he couldn’t help but think of the malakhim they’d been. If he were in their position, he knew what he’d want to be done.

He stood in front of a felled dragon, the one Eleanor had brought down. It looked up at him with red eyes which blazed with fury, full of hate and rage, but remained still. Eizen didn’t like to dwell on what the eye reminded him of, as he heard an exclamation from across the room.

“What the-?”

Zaveid. He hadn’t seen Velvet consume a daemon before; it usually came as a bit of a shock to Eizen, and he’d seen it enough times now. 

_It doesn’t matter_ , he thought as he pulled his fist back, before slamming it into the wyvern’s skull, feeling bone crack and gloopy matter splash on to his glove. _One way of putting them out of their misery is as good as another. It’d be crueller to let them live._

“I’ll take care of the last one.”

Velvet walked over to the last injured wyvern, raising her claw - and Eizen physically flinched as a pendulum wrapped around it, swirling viciously until it came to a stop, followed by an almighty pull which knocked Velvet off her feet. Zaveid leapt toward the wyvern, shooting a bolt of mana from Siegfried into its body - and even as it screeched back into fitness, flapping its wings and knocking Laphicet and Magilou off their feet before disappearing through the high window, Eizen could only stare in horror.

Because he’d suddenly realised what that meant.

_No!! No no no!_

“You folks jump in and kill without a second thought! Is that your ‘creed’?” Zaveid was snarling at them all, but Eizen barely noticed: his eyes darted around the chamber as he searched for Melchior.

_You let him go! You fool, you let him go to save a dragon!_

“Marvellous. Your ‘Siegfried’ is just the power I’ve been looking for.” Melchior’s disembodied voice floated through the room, seeming to be coming from all angles; Eizen could see Rokurou straining his senses to tell where it was coming from, but even he seemed unable to detect it. Too late, Eizen spotted the legate behind Zaveid, casting an arte on the weapon in Zaveid’s hand. He’d teleported away before Zaveid could even react, fleeing out of the door.

“What?! The hell did you do? Wait, damn you!” Zaveid bolted for the door and Eizen followed, everyone else was just a beat behind him.

It was a hopeless task, as they ran down the almost endless, circular flight of steps. Zaveid was faster than any of them, out of sight almost immediately, and there was no sign of Melchior ahead. But Eizen kept running, Rokurou the only one fast enough to catch him up, because it was the only thing he knew how to do.

He’d run away from Edna, fearing that his curse would bring harm to her. He’d run away from confronting his feelings for Aifread. And when he thought he’d found Aifread alive, his first thought had been whether he could run away from his feelings once again.

No wonder he was cursed. Sometimes he had to wonder if he brought it all down on himself.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and the entrance, Laphicet in particular panting for breath, and Eizen sprinted through the doors without stopping. There was no sign of Melchior, or course - but Zaveid stood there, looking off into the distance as though he might still spot him. Eizen’s only consolation was that the wind malak looked just as dejected as he felt.

“Damn. He’s sure got some speedy legs for an old fart.” Zaveid kicked a stone across the ground, and Eizen resisted the urge to fill the pebble with mana and slam it between Zaveid’s eyes.

Laphicet stepped forward. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, Zaveid.”

“It’s not me that I’m worried about.” Zaveid shrugged, turning to look at where they stood, spread out across the steps leading to the tower’s entrance. He stood before them as if he were on trial; in Eizen’s case, it wasn’t far from the truth.

Velvet stared at him, as Rokurou casually folded his arms behind her. “Melchior was highly interested in your weapon. And yet he didn’t steal it. Surely a legate like him could snatch it if he wanted to.”

“Why bother stealing it when you can just copy its hidden formula?” Magilou’s posture was relaxed, but Eizen could see some sort of shadow crossing her face.”Some artes can decipher the workings of other artes in a split second. And guess what Melchior’s specialty is.”

Eleanor glanced at her doubtfully. “As he left, he said ‘my work here is done’.”

“The Abbey must have some use for that unknown arte. Who knows what? After all, they brought it here from another continent.”

Zaveid curled his fingers into a fist. “Then we’ll find out what they’re after and crush it to dust!”

No; Eizen wasn’t content to leave it there, on a vague promise of revenge. He wanted answers. And he wasn’t getting them from Melchior, the source of the information he so desperately wanted, so he was getting some kind of answer from Zaveid. He walked up to the malak, and looked him squarely in the eyes. No running away; no escape.

“Let me ask you just one question. Why do you have Siegfried?”

Zaveid looked back at him for a long moment, clearly debating something in his own mind. Whether to speak, how much to speak. And Eizen saw something in him break its banks.

_“‘I’m counting on you’,_ he said. Back when I served the exorcists, they sent me on a mission to capture Aifread.”

Laphicet’s mouth fell open. “Zaveid, you were once their slave?”

“Yeah. My mind was under the influence of Innominat’s domain. But when Aifread aimed this baby at me… One shot was all it took to open my eyes. The fight we had after that was one for the books. He might’ve been a human, but that guy was a beast. Put a song in my soul.”

Eizen did something he hadn’t expected. He closed his eyes, and smiled. 

_That was Aifread, alright. That man put a song in the soul of so many people; different tunes, but music nonetheless. And the song he gave me… maybe it wasn’t one we could sing together, but it allowed me to see what was truly in my heart. He didn’t just show me how to live; he showed me how to love. Who I loved. How I deserved someone who loved me back._

He felt the sun on his face, drank in the warmth, and the rare feeling of self-acceptance.

“But then Melchior had to jump in and spirit Aifread away with one of his damned illusions,” Zaveid was continuing. “That old bastard, playing tricks with people’s minds!”

“But why’d he grab Aifread, and not Siegfried when he had the chance?” Rokurou’s voice broke Eizen’s reverie; he opened his eyes, startled, feeling guilt and avoidance creep into his consciousness again.

“He probably didn’t know at the time that this guy was the real prize he was after.” Zaveid held Seigfried up. “But Aifread knew. Right before he was taken, he distracted Melchior long enough to hand Siegfried over to me.”

Eizen sighed. That sounded like Aifread, too.

Zaveid looked right at him. “Well, that’s all I know. Whether you believe me or not is up to you.”

“Got it.” Eizen stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling his coin bump against his fingers. “We’re done here.”

“Huh? That was easy.” Zaveid sounded bewildered.

“Aifread only says “I’m counting on you” to people he trusts.” Eizen fixed him with a look. Zaveid’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did.

“... Is that so.” He turned as if to walk away.

“So what are you going to do now?” Rokurou again, sounding surprisingly interested. 

“Gonna keep looking for Aifread. Still gotta give this back and settle our score.”

Velvet moved one hand to her hip. “I doubt you have much time left to get that done.”

Eizen felt a jolt go through him, saw much the same pass through Zaveid. They both turned their gaze to her; if she felt either antagonism or pity, she didn’t show it. Her glare was as level and indifferent as usual.

Magilou chimed in. “I’d hazard a guess that until now, Melchior was unaware what Siegfried could really do. In other words, he and the exorcists weren’t able to ‘interrogate’ anything out of their captive.”

“And now that Aifread’s no longer needed, I see no reason for them to keep him alive.” Velvet spoke sense; it was just that Eizen didn’t want to hear it.

“You think I don’t know that?” Zaveid snarled, a display of emotion that broke through his chilled-out exterior.

Eleanor lifted her chin. “If you really want to save Aifread, you probably ought to team up with us.”

The malak laughed. “Nope. No can do.”

“Why not?”

“You lot will do anything to achieve your goals. Even kill. Sorry. I’m a fighter, not a killer. I won't steal a single life. That’s just _my_ creed.”

“And I’ve no intention of changing our pirate creed, either,” Eizen finished, glaring back at him. They’d come to an impasse, a clash of creeds once more.

Rather than debate further, or compromise, Zaveid simply walked away. They watched him go, Siegfried in hand, the sun casting his shadow across the ground.

Eizen let out a breath, his body slumping as the tension leaked out of him. He felt tired, and older than his thousand years. When did life get so complicated? He was so tired of everything, of the constant stresses which pecked away at him. Life was meant to be simple, surely?

“Well, that was sure something,” Magilou said in a light, chatty tone. “Melchior and his illusions are cheats!”

Velvet gave her a withering look, as standard. “There’s no ‘cheating’ in combat.”

“What I meant is that they were awfully dirty tricks for an ‘upstanding exorcist’.” The witch shot a smile at Eleanor, who shuffled uncomfortably.

“And the illusion seemed so real,” Rokurou put in, sweeping his hair from his face for a split second, before it fell back over his daemon eye again. Eizen couldn’t help staring in fascination. “Had that gone on any longer, I wouldn’t have been able to tell what was real and what was fake.”

“If it can’t be distinguished from reality, perhaps one could live a happier life within the illusion.”

“Hmph.” Eizen snorted, tiring of the conversation. “That kind of happiness can rot.”

Magilou turned to him. And she gave him a knowing smile.

“You think so?” Then she turned away again.

He stared at her back.

She didn’t know what had been on his mind the past few days - couldn’t possibly know the thoughts that had been running through his head since that night at Port Cadnix - but he had a sudden recognition of the truth.

He’d been living within the illusion, because he’d thought that he could find his happiness there. The happiness of ignorance, of running away, and not confronting the feelings that had broken his heart once before, back when he’d realised his love for Aifread. But maybe it was better to test the waters and find out for certain, rather than hide in port.

Eizen’s world had come tumbling down in Port Cadnix. There was no point sitting in the wreckage and pretending that his house was still intact. The last few days had been miserable; he’d barely been able to look at Rokurou for fear of what he might feel, of what might be confirmed or denied. And there were so many variables - did he really feel the way he suspected? What would he do if he did? But at its base, he couldn’t deny his feelings, just as he couldn’t deny how attractive he found Rokurou.

Aifread’s song had petered out, but Rokurou could be the new song in his soul. Just being around him proved that, time and time again. Eizen needed to find out if the song was true, if it really could reside within his heart, or if it were a tune that would never get going and stay as it was.

Maybe this encounter with Siegfried had been the shot in the head he’d needed to open his eyes, just as Aifread had done for Zaveid. And perhaps like Aifread and Zaveid, a fight between him and Rokurou would be just the thing to see where they stood

***

Rokurou really didn’t understand the workings of the human mind, especially when it came to romance.

Admittedly, he was at a distinct disadvantage, but he honestly couldn’t grasp what was apparently meant to be amorous fantasy. They’d barely gotten away from Lothringen when the girls had started to speculate on who the young, blonde-haired girl with an umbrella from Eizen’s illusion had been. Suggestions had been everything from a wife, to a lover, to a daughter, to the daughter of a childhood love who had died. It had been a good thing that Eizen was out of earshot; Rokurou had felt honour-bound to try to squelch some of their wilder ideas on his behalf.

Dead lovers? Miserable unrequited feelings? Endless yearnings? Not that he knew anything about romance, but that all sounded like torture with extra steps. 

Even worse, he’d obviously said something wrong without realising, because Magilou had been grinning at him, like some sort of cat with a mouse in paw’s range ever since. It was a good thing that he was incapable of fear, because he was pretty sure that he would’ve been terrified otherwise.

He had no idea who the blonde girl had been. Didn’t seem all that important, really.

Seeing her seemed to have had an effect on Eizen, though. He was still quiet, tending to hang back from walking alongside them as they traveled back towards Port Reneed, but the air of anger and malaise seemed to have dissipated from him. He looked thoughtful rather than brooding: Rokurou still felt it wise to give him some space, but his frame of mind certainly appeared to be better. Good. Rokurou still had that sake, after all.

“Hey, Velvet.” He jogged a couple of paces up to where she led their group, Laphicet trotting at her side. “D’ya want me to go and scout ahead? We’ve got to go past that exorcist camp, and if they’ve woken up by now, they might have reinforcements.”

She looked at him with unimpressed golden eyes, dark locks of hair waving in the breeze. “You just want to fight them all by yourself, don’t you?”

_Maybe._

“There’s no way we can sneak past them there. I’ll draw much less attention by myself; if there’s too many of them, I’ll come back.” He smiled in what he hoped was a persuasive manner. “I’m stealthy.”

She shrugged, and he had to wonder again just how much importance his life held to her. Not that it mattered anyway.

“Fine, go ahead. The rest of us will wait here.”

“I’d like to volunteer to accompany dearest Rokurou, if I may?”

Rokurou spun around, and saw Magilou standing there, Bienfu by her ankles. She stood with her arms behind her back like a simpering girl, her head and oversized hat tilted at a coquettish angle.

“What?” he said, confused.

“Me. Go with. You. I know; the thought of spending extended time with me does tend to drive linguistic comprehension out of most people’s minds.” She smiled sweetly; Velvet seemed immensely amused by the whole situation. Eizen had caught up to them now; he frowned. “Two scouts is safer than one, after all. What if you were to trip over your sword, tumble over the edge of a cliff, and be dangling by one hand? You’d need a convenient local witch to save your rear end from disaster.”

“Your choice, Rokurou,” Velvet concluded idly.

“Great! We’ll be off then?” Magilou trilled at him.

_Like fuck you will._ As soon as he’d thought the words, her eyes began to narrow, causing his left eye to widen in return. _She can’t read my mind… can she?_

“Uh… sure, that’ll be fun?”

“Oh, it absolutely will! Come along!” She strolled off down the path, in the direction of the plateau.

Rokurou gave Velvet and Eizen one more look: their faces both seemed to say _well, you got yourself into this._

He sighed and followed after her, thinking that at least he had Bienfu for company. She was already gabbling to herself as she sauntered along the dirt track; he had to speed up to hear her. So much for stealth.

“- I mean, what we need is a good bonding session. We haven’t really had an opportunity to bond yet, have we? In between deadly battles, hazardous ocean voyages, and your attempts to steal all my gald.”

“I didn’t try to steal your gald,” he replied, falling in beside her. The passageway through the rocky outcrop was already beginning to narrow, mimicking the sense of dread that tickled his mind at the thought of bonding with Magilou. “We made a bet, and you lost.”

“You could’ve been a gentleman and declined to collect! Honestly, I don’t know what they teach young men about manners these days; clearly not much. I don’t know what else I expected from a daemon.”

That stung a little. “Hey, I have _good_ manners.”

She shot him a sideways look. “You’re polite, I’ll give you that. But do you open a door for a lady? Do you throw yourself on to a puddle so that a young girl may walk across it without spoiling her shoes? No, you do not.”

“Does anyone? That sounds kind of like being a doormat.” Rokurou noticed that Bienfu was staying right out of this conversation; he couldn’t blame him. Besides, the way Magilou was prattling on, any exorcists would hear them a mile away.

“A doormat! Pah! Clearly you know nothing of chivalry, or romance.” Magilou turned to him, green eyes bright with slyness. “But we established that earlier, didn’t we?”

“Really? This again?” Rokurou felt his own eyes become heavy-lidded, his default expression for when he was done with Magilou’s never-ending nonsense. 

“Yes! This again!” She gesticulated wildly; a flock of sparrows launched themselves out of a bush in fright. “Don’t you see the fascination of such a tale; the possibilities of Eizen’s mystery girl! The intrigue! The drama! The passions involved with an affair of the heart!”

“Nope,” he said bluntly. They were almost back to the tents of the exorcist camp; he could see them just around the bend. “All your ideas seemed to involve Eizen being miserable.”

“That’s the whole point! The trials of love! The tribulations of star-crossed lovers!” She collapsed the top half of her body down, as if her legs were the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the ground. “I give up. Clearly daemons just don’t understand love.”

“Not a yaksha, anyway.” Rokurou signalled with his hand for her to stop; amazingly, she obeyed. Silently, with not a single sound made by his sandals, he crept around the edges of the Abbey camp. The canvas tents flapped in the breeze, but he couldn’t hear any other signs of life - not even the breathing of the unconscious men.

Slowly moving his head around the tent where Zaveid had concealed himself earlier, he could see that the men were gone - presumably recovered, and left to a more secure base. The camp was essentially abandoned; he couldn’t see any signs of activity at all, apart from a few items here and there which had been upended in a clear rush to evacuate.

“They’re gone,” he called back to Magilou, who came out of her hiding place as casually as if she’d known the result all along. He could still feel a tension in his spine: he wasn’t sure if that was readiness, or just the effect she had on him.

“This is what happens when there’s not a Reaper’s Curse in the vicinity. Bienfu.” She summoned her unhappy minion. “Go back to Velvet and tell them it’s safe to come through.”

“Yes, Miss Magilou,” the normin said, sighing, plodding back the way he’d come on his tiny legs. No wonder he seemed so fed up; the journey must’ve seemed twice as long for someone as small as him.

“Meanwhile, we can sit and chat!” Magilou barely even noticed that Bienfu was gone, as Rokurou watched him trudge away; she made herself at home on a wooden crate, leaning back as if it were the ultimate in luxury. “Maybe I can teach you what romance is.”

“Good luck with that.” Rokurou preferred to stand. Throwing himself over the edge of the plateau was possibly preferable. 

“No, really! This can be a learning experience for both of us! We’ll bond! Just think of me as a beloved, trusted sibling. One you don’t want to kill.” She gave him a smile that was much too innocent to be genuine.

He eyed her. “I’m not going to get it, for real. I don’t have any emotions.”

“So I heard. But there must be some feelings in there, deep in that dark, tempestuous yaksha heart!” 

“Nope. I mean, if there was, I’d probably be feeling some sort of deep irritation by now.” He gave her a meaningful look; it slid off her like water off a duck’s back.

“Not that kind of thing. You must feel _urges,_ right?”

Rokurou wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. He walked over and sat on a crate next to her, aware of her eyes following him the whole way. It would be a while before Bienfu got back to Velvet; he might as well make himself comfortable.

“Well…” he started, uncomfortably aware of her stare. “I get urges to kill, sure.”

“Not that. You know what I mean, daemon boy.” Magilou leaned in, far too interested.

Rokurou leaned back slightly. “I’ve got a libido still, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Oho! I knew it! The emotionless yaksha can still feel a stirring in his loins!” Magilou cooed, and Rokurou was so glad that he didn’t have a sense of shame anymore. “And there I was, wondering if you were dead from the waist down.”

“You were thinking about my crotch?”

“Of course! This whole group is a maelstrom of raging hormones! One attuned to the romantic arts, such as I, can feel such longings from a distance. Plus, gossiping about it makes the time go quicker.”

Rokurou’s nose wrinkled slightly at that; he’d never liked being gossiped about. 

“And if you hadn’t noticed, you’re surrounded by some of the most ethereal, beautiful women in the whole of Midgand.” She suddenly started, as if something had occurred to her. “Unless men are more to your taste?”

“Uh… never really had a preference either way.” Bushido code said that he should be truthful at all times. Bushido code didn’t _directly_ state that it was forbidden to dropkick a witch from a high plateau, but he suspected that it was in the spirit, if not the letter, of the law.

“So…” She had an evil glint in her eye. “Do you find Velvet attractive?”

He sighed, closing his eyes. She clearly wasn’t going to let it drop; he may as well commit to it.

“Sure.”

“Eleanor?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ei-zen?” For some reason, her voice went singsong. For a similarly unfathomable reason, Rokurou suddenly felt like shifting on his crate.

“Why do you want to know all this, again?”

“Reasons. Answer the question.”

“... Probably.”

Her smile twitched at that.

“Me?”

Rokurou looked at her sideways. “Eww, gross.”

Her eyes widened and her lips opened, before they curled upwards into a grin again. “Are you teasing me?”

“Magileewwww.”

She struck a hand to her breast, as if it had been fatally pierced. “You are! You’re teasing me! Oh, foul, heartless creature! Crushing the self-esteem of an innocent girl, whose only crime was to casually enquire into the mating rituals of daemons!”

He laughed, feeling almost relaxed in her company for the first time. “That’s what we daemons do. We find crushing self-esteem romantic. Mmm, sexy.” 

“It’s a good thing that I know you’re joking; that would make no sense at all!”

“It makes just as much sense as your idea of romance.” Rokurou grinned, leaning back and feeling a fresh breeze ruffle through his ponytail. “Ehh, don’t worry. I think you’re safe from my foul desires for now.”

Magilou rested her petite chin on her fingers, regarding him. “What about everyone else? That’s a lot of people you find attractive. Are you going to do anything about any of them?”

“No, because I’m still-” The words had come out before he’d even realised it, and he stopped himself, unsure. He had to stop, because he wasn’t sure what to say, how to vocalise the sensation that was floating within him, that feeling that he couldn’t distinguish between bloodlust, and regular lust. But for all that he could admit that he found Velvet, Eleanor, and even Magilou attractive, it was only the image of Eizen that caused him to get that response, that feeling of pleasant pangs in his lower belly.

_I’m still trying to work out what I’m feeling about Eizen_ , his mind finished the thought. 

Magilou was still looking at him, much less intensely than she had been earlier, so he lifted his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

She smiled, and for the first time, it seemed genuine. “It can’t be easy when you don’t know what emotions are anymore. Don’t you remember what it felt like? You must’ve experienced love before.”

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember, and for a moment, he didn’t see the exorcist’s camp or Magilou anymore. He saw the estate of Lord Lancelot Capalus, the head of the family that the Rangetsu clan were sworn to serve, and the place where he’d occasionally spent a night in the course of his service. The scene of the handful of sexual encounters he’d ever had in his human life.

His mind instinctively shied away from thinking about the night he’d lost his virginity - just the briefest memory of _that hand_ made him want to shudder; he closed the thought off and shielded himself from it. But had he ever felt anything after that? His fleeting liaisons with male and female courtiers and household staff, just as much servants as he was, had been furtive, desperate affairs. It had just been fun and experimentations, grasping moments of physical comfort.

There hadn’t been any emotion there. And all he could remember was his own self-accusation.

He shook his head, the exorcist camp reawakening in his vision. “No.”

She looked at him. “Not even from your family?”

He stared downwards this time, thinking of his mother, Shigure, his other brothers - had he ever felt love from them? Even with the harsh traditions of his clan, the practises designed to keep the bloodline as strong as it could be, had he felt affection from them, or given it in return? Their faces floated before his eyes, moments in time when he knew he must’ve felt something: occasions when he’d been laughing with Ichirou as he trotted by his side, or been scooped up in Jirou’s arms… and he couldn’t feel or remember a thing. Confusion stole over him: he could visualise his own mother, and not know what he felt.

Rokurou looked back up at Magilou, trying to find an answer - and realised that he didn’t have to. The confusion on his face had completely answered everything she’d wanted to know.

Her smile grew sad, as his ears picked up the sound of Velvet and the others turning the final bend. 

“Well. Looks like we’ve got more in common than either of us thought.” 

***

Eizen walked along one of the raised wooden walkways which served as the streets of Yseult, feeling the warmth which still blew in off the crystal blue seas even as the skies darkened. 

It was time to deal with his business. He’d had to put things off for the last couple of days, on account of being on the _Van Eltia:_ no more. He wasn’t stopping until he got Rokurou to fight him, and until he’d pushed the daemon past his limit of control.

Eizen didn’t even know why he kept wanting to push Rokurou. Maybe it was some selfish desire to reassure himself that a creature which had lost itself could come back, eventually. Maybe it was just a desperate attempt to see some sort of emotion from him… which suddenly seemed much more important than it should’ve been.

Or maybe he just wanted to see Rokurou in his natural state, full of deadly, frightening bloodlust, just to confirm to himself if this really was something he could handle, and if he could let him into the tightly-guarded fortress of his heart.

He didn’t think it would take much to get Rokurou to that point, either: the man clearly needed to blow off some steam. It’d been building for a while - since before they’d even fought Artorius, if Eizen’s instincts were correct - and certainly during their encounters with Shigure. When they’d first arrived in Yseult this morning, Rokurou had pulled him aside to tell him of a conversation he’d had with Eleanor during the voyage, even as the exorcist herself was standing on the dock with Velvet and Laphicet, having some conversation with Magilou.

_“And then she told me that she despises daemons. Like, direct quote,”_ Rokurou had told him.

That had made Eizen pause, considering. _“Does that bother you?”_

_“Nah,”_ he’d replied, completely casual. _“Not like I care about daemons. And if I need to, I’ll kill her.”_

Obviously, that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Not because Eizen particularly cared about Eleanor’s wellbeing, and not just because it would cause Laphicet to become a daemon, but because Velvet would eat Rokurou without hesitation if it all came to pass. Better to just let him fight someone, and get it all out of his system.

Just like Eizen was half-hoping would be the case for himself.

So he was headed to the tavern, where he was pretty sure he’d find Rokurou, hopefully not too deep into his cups. Overnighting in Yseult was a risk, given that they’d seen both Teresa and Oscar earlier in the day, but they’d both appeared to be on their way to somewhere else. Besides, by the time they’d located the shopkeeper and his horde of Grimoirh dolls, the sun had begun to lower - he’d informed them that there was no way they’d reach the village of Haria by sundown, and stumbling along a reef in the darkness hadn’t seemed a wise idea. And Yseult had an inn with proper beds. No one, with the exception of Eizen, was going to turn that down.

Rokurou had seemed quite enchanted at the sight of those dolls, though. Eizen really couldn’t understand why a daemon seemed to have a soft spot for normin, of all things, but there it was. He was as unpredictable as an ocean; one that needed mapping and conquering.

Eizen’s gloved hand pressed against the door of the tavern and it swung open, discharging the sound of happy chatter and the faint scent of stale beer into the evening air. Yseult’s tavern was as laid back and relaxed as the rest of the town, situated on its stilts above the waves, and busier than any of the taverns Eizen had seen in Midgand. The locals seemed to use it as an evening gathering place, a venue to swap tales after a day’s fishing at sea. The smell of sea salt was just as prevalent as that of the beer.

“Yo, Eizen!”

The malak turned to see Rokurou lounging in a hammock chair on the other side of the bar, lazily swinging himself back and forward with a daintily-extended foot. One arm was behind his head, and a cup of sake was at the end of the other: an empty bowl sat on a wooden table in front of him, with a pair of abandoned chopsticks. The daemon never seemed to miss an opportunity to grab a bite to eat, Eizen mused as he made his way over.

“This,” Rokurou told him as he approached, still swinging idly, “is a very cool tavern.”

“You seem to have made yourself at home.” Eizen perched on the edge of the table; he didn’t feel as though he should share the hammock. “You’ll feel drunk even faster than usual if you keep going back and forward like that.”

“Nah, I’ve only just started. Been chatting to people.” Rokurou passed him the familiar bottle of sake, and Eizen took a swig. He made to pass it back, but Rokurou waved it away. “Keep it; plenty more where that came from. I opened up a tab.”

Eizen glanced at the young, tanned people around them, and couldn’t help a slight stab of jealousy. “Chatting? If these people knew what you were, they’d be fleeing in terror.”

“Guess that’s why I like it here. They’re not judgy.” Rokurou flashed him a wicked grin. “I’m half-hoping that priest comes in tonight, and sees his unrepentant sinner thoroughly enjoying himself. Then again, I think I gave him an existential crisis to keep busy with.”

Eizen chuckled; he’d enjoyed the afternoon’s display in the church very much. “Aye, I love how secure they feel in their churches, like nothing bad could ever happen to them there. If only they knew that daemons can cross the threshold.”

“Just like in their taverns. I mean, I’m getting pretty good at testing that theory out. No-one’s noticed I’m a daemon yet; they seem to just think I’ve got some badass tattoos.”

“It’s not that long ago that malakhim and daemons were invisible to them, now we pass as being the same as them. They look at us, and just see a couple of-” Eizen couldn’t quite finish the thought, the word _friends_ seemed weirdly insufficient suddenly.

“Booze hounds?” Rokurou suggested.

Eizen nodded, glad for the save. “I would imagine so. And the same goes for the churches.”

“Mmm. I should’ve gutted that priest, right there in front of them all. That would’ve given them a shock.” The grin turned wolfish.

Eizen smiled faintly. His own personal motives aside, he was doing the world a favour by potentially giving Rokurou a battle.

“I’d be more interested to see what you could do in a fair fight. Someone who’s on your level.” 

That made Rokurou pause: Eizen could tell that he’d been preparing to signal for another bottle of alcohol. Instead, he stared levelly at him, and he had the distinct impression that he was being watched by something dispassionate and vicious, lurking under that dark hair.

“Got anyone in mind?”

“Aye. Me.” Eizen took another swig from the bottle, holding his nerve. “We did make a deal on it.”

“Guess we did.” The language was typically languid, but Eizen could see the intense interest in Rokurou’s eye. “You think you’re up to my level?”

“No. I think I’m a better fighter than you. I think I’ll have you begging for mercy within minutes.”

“My skinny ass,” Rokurou said succinctly, a turn of phrase that Eizen found worryingly distracting.

“So, are you up for it?” he asked, recovering. “Looks like we can go just outside of town, beyond the walls. It’s lit well enough, and there’s no guards. Perfect spot.” 

“Told you, I’m up for it anytime.” His grin reappeared, alongside his easy-going manner; clearly the yaksha instincts had been kept under control for now. “Lead on! But I’m keeping the tab open.”

“As it should be.” Eizen watched Rokurou disentangle himself from the hammock with the minimum of fuss - clearly he was getting used to life on board a ship - before he led the way out of the door. 

His heart thrummed with excitement, as they crossed the walkways towards the high cliffs and the defensive wall. He could only imagine what Rokurou’s was like: perhaps that was the reason for the tense, charged silence between the two of them as they walked, both trying to look nonchalant to observers. Eizen was entirely consumed by his own thoughts, the weight of the bracelet he used to focus his mana heavy on his wrist. He wanted to win their fight, of course - pride wouldn’t accept anything less - but he looked forward to the battle, however it turned out. Maybe being near the sea again was emboldening him, but he could almost feel a buzz of electricity flowing through his skin; the anticipation of fighting against such an accomplished swordsman.

That was only part of it, though. More than anything, he just felt a thrill at the thought of going up against Rokurou in particular. He couldn’t deny how Rokurou made him feel; couldn’t deny that the main point of this entire enterprise was to see how he felt by the end of it - if, as Zaveid said, Rokurou could be the song in his soul. Eizen couldn’t be hurt again; he wouldn’t allow it. If battling Rokurou didn’t spark something in him, give him some sort of sign that this was someone worth pursuing, then he would close himself off to it forever and save himself another heartbreak.

He hoped it would be that easy, anyway.

Plus it was always a pleasure - in absolutely every sense of the word - to watch the daemon fight. Eizen suspected that Rokurou knew full well how beautiful his battle moves were; it was a ballet of death. If Eizen could’ve frozen time, he knew that each moment would be a tableau worthy of being immortalised in a painting by a master artist, with grace, agility, and a half-crazed grin full of bloodlust. The contrast was enticing.

He wanted to make Rokurou work, make him struggle. He wanted to see him sweating, spent, and wary. 

They’d reached the perimeter wall, where the small flock of pengyons waddled and croaked to each other, and still they hadn’t exchanged a word. Eizen glanced over and saw that Rokurou looked completely relaxed, yet focused, tilting his head from side to side to loosen up his neck muscles. It caused his bangs to swing back and forth, and Eizen could see glimpses of the scarlet eye underneath, wide and staring. 

Letting themselves out of the gate was easy - Yseult didn’t seem to believe in having guards - and it was just as Eizen had said. A sandy arena nestled between two rocky outcrops, lit by the wall’s torches, and far enough from the main settlement that no one would hear anything. It was also pleasingly free from the coral which grew prolifically in the area: with his curse, Eizen wouldn’t have been surprised to dodge a dagger attack only to impale himself on the sharp substance.

“Sooo, how do we want to do this?” Rokurou amiably broke the silence, drawing his daggers and giving them a few passes through the air. Warming up. “Armed, I’m guessing? Any rules?”

“I’m always unarmed, but I wouldn’t want you to disadvantage yourself. Give it your best try.” Eizen smirked, knowing that he was being deliberately provocative. “As for rules, anything goes as far as I’m concerned. Loser is the first one to yield.”

“Sure? I’m not going to go easy on you, dude.”

“I’m sure.” Eizen clenched his fist, splaying his fingers as he released it. “You’re going to need practice if you want to beat Lord Shigure.”

Even the very mention of his brother’s name caused a glow of something to appear in Rokurou’s eye, but he seemed to shake it off just as quickly. “Calling him a lord, now? You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that to get under my skin.”

“I don’t know, I’d say it worked a little.”

“Guess we’ll see.”

Eizen shifted his stance, and got ready for the inevitable battle. The tension between them had gone up a notch, whether it was due to his taunts, or just the excited anticipation he could feel coming off both of them. It was like a charge in the air, and he could feel the delicious tickle of it going all the way down his spine and into the backs of his legs. And he was certain that Rokurou felt the same: he’d crouched himself down a mere couple of inches, but the intensity in his eyes was that of a cat about to pounce. He was grinning again, getting that wild, slightly unravelled look that Eizen found irresistible. 

“I guess we will. Unless you’re going to waste our time chattering like a child.”

Rokurou pointed a dagger at him. 

“Bring it.”

And their dance began, cautiously at first. They circled like cats, and after having watched Rokurou so closely in battle, Eizen was fairly confident that he knew how he’d approach it. Rokurou liked to start off defensively, drawing an opponent into a strike before quickly counter-attacking, darting away before he could become too entrenched in a toe-to-toe fight. If Eizen allowed him to follow his plan, his main difficulty would be getting a hold on the daemon; he was much too fast for the malak to keep up with. Disrupting his battle strategy would be key to winning, not to mention getting him as angry as possible.

So Eizen was completely taken by surprise when it was Rokurou who struck first, darting in to slash with the two daggers in quick succession. Eizen managed to block it, half-turning to shoulder barge him, but he’d already disappeared to a safe distance. 

_Well, that was a lesson not to underestimate a daemon swordsman._

Rokurou circled again, moving with the easy, relaxed gait of a young man; Eizen was young himself in malakhim terms, and had to remind himself that he couldn’t use his age as an excuse. He manipulated the earth’s mana to rumble underneath Rokurou’s feet, knowing that he’d nimbly skip aside: it allowed him a split second to quickly move to the exact spot where the daemon landed, and give him a punishing blow to the ribs.

“Nice job.” If it had hurt Rokurou, he didn’t show any sign of it. His daggers were up by his face, in a guard position, though all Eizen could see was the glinting amber eye behind them.

“You haven’t seen anything yet. That’s just a-”

And Rokurou was on him again, slashing viciously - he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he wouldn’t go easy. Eizen felt a cut open on his chest, another on his forearm where he’d tried to block. He fell back a bit, trying to ignore the sting, and feeling his eyes narrow. 

_You’re being too polite,_ his own mind chided him. _Stop fighting like a lovesick fool. You’re a godsdamned pirate._

“First blood to you.” He couldn’t help sounding a little disgruntled; he was certainly on the backfoot so far, and he wasn’t used to it. He could hardly claim to be a less experienced fighter; he’d been close to a thousand years old when Rokurou was still on his mother’s teat.

“I know.” And Eizen suspected that Rokurou really did - the blade of his dagger, still close to his face, had a narrow sheen on red on it. And if it wasn't his imagination, Rokurou’s focus looked just that little bit sharper, a little more sinister, all of a sudden.

_It’s the blood._ It dawned on Eizen in a moment. _It’s something to do with the blood._

For the malak, that was just an invitation to get it closer to him.

He threw himself at Rokurou, launching himself into the air, slamming down a punch that just caught the daemon as he retreated. Pivoting quickly on his boot allowed him to chase the attack up with another flurry of punches, mostly aimed at Rokurou's head; once his arms came up fully to guard his face, Eizen changed direction and delivered a winding jab to his stomach.

That was enough to momentarily double him over, but he was too fast to allow Eizen to capitalise on it. He got one of his daggers back in position as the pirate came in for another burst, lashing out wildly, and Eizen made sure that it caught across the palm of his hand, tearing through his gloves. It hurt like hell, but it was worth it to curl the same hand into a fist, and deliver more blows with it, as close to Rokurou’s face as he could manage.

It was definitely having an effect. Rokurou was starting to lose control again: his eyes were glowering, the daemonic one becoming visible more and more as he breathed harder, and Eizen could hear the low rumble of a growl in his throat. Much to the malak’s satisfaction, he was also starting to look warm.

“What are you doing?” he spat.

Eizen flexed his bleeding hand. “I’m fighting. What are you doing? Holding back?”

He could see Rokurou waver; decided to push further.

“I guess daemons aren’t as good as everyone says. Disappointing if they’re inferior.”

“Shut up!” Rokurou snarled, violently. He wasn’t past his limit yet, by Eizen’s guess, but he wasn’t far off - no doubt the frustration that he’d clearly been feeling hadn’t helped. But it was enough to get him charging in on the attack, and that was exactly what Eizen wanted.

He waited until Rokurou was close, until he could clearly see the strained grit of his teeth and the maddened look in his eye - then he cleanly sidestepped as Rokurou lunged in, leaning back in to grab the daemon’s ponytail right at the base of his skull, with his uninjured hand. Then, with his other fist, he delivered two clean punches to Rokurou’s face.

Until Rokurou moved unexpectedly, seemingly recoiling away from being held at the back of his head, and Eizen felt something _crunch._

“Oh, gods.” He released the daemon immediately and stepped back, horrified by the sudden gush of blood from Rokurou’s face, which was hidden by a curtain of black hair. He stood with his head lowered as if stunned, arms tentatively out to his sides, as the blood splattered on to the sand. Eizen looked down and saw that it was smeared over his fist: an incredibly dark red which was almost black. “Rokurou, I’m-”

He broke off as he heard a long, throaty snarl. Rokurou slowly raised his head to reveal that not only was his nose clearly broken, the bottom half of his face covered with so much blood that it even stained his teeth, but his daemon eye was blazing red.

Eizen had seen him lose control before; this had been what he’d aimed for. But with so much blood, bubbling out of his nose and mouth, he’d clearly completely lost his sense of reason - the only thing that kept him from becoming a full-on murder machine. It had temporarily checked out, and allowed him to become the devastating, ruinous yaksha that he truly was. Malevolence rolled off him, like the waves in a storm.

And Eizen knew that the only thought currently in Rokurou’s mind was his own slaughter.

“Rokurou.” Eizen backed away a couple of steps. He’d been stupid to try to initiate this; a fool. As fascinating as he found the daemon’s dual nature, it would be no-one's fault but his if it proved too much for Rokurou to come back from. “Stop. Calm down.” 

The snarl suddenly grew in intensity, and Rokurou started stalking forward, coming forward like grim death.

“Stop. Rokurou, _stop._ ”

It had no effect; Eizen wasn’t sure if the yaksha could even hear a word he was saying - and then he managed to throw himself aside as Rokurou attacked at blinding speed, narrowly avoiding dying on his daggers. Before he knew what he was doing he was calling on his mana; instinctively tapping into the metals within the ground.

Chains shot up from the ground, a combination of minerals and mana, glowing with energy, and Eizen directed them to wrap around the daemon and contain him, preventing him from doing any more harm to either of them. Eizen was sprawled on the ground, vulnerable, so he curled the chains around Rokurou’s wrists and ankles. 

If anything, it sent the yaksha into a greater frenzy. He was thrashing, so hard that Eizen became scared that he’d injure himself on the chains, contorting in the most awkward, painful ways in an effort to escape. As he got back to his feet, he saw that he’d have to immobilise him further to have any effect.

“Stop! Stop moving!” And reluctantly he created a spider’s web of chains around Rokurou, before snaking one out to collar him around the throat.

And Rokurou screamed.

The sound made Eizen want to clap his hands over his ears; he watched, horrified, as Rokurou reared backward in what appeared to be blind panic, his eyes staring sightlessly as he howled into the night sky.

_What’s happening?!_ Eizen thought, near to panic himself. _What’s causing him to react like-_

It hit him.

_The prison ship. Shit, shit shit!_

He dropped the arte immediately, the golden chains evaporating into thin air, leaving only a fine shining dust hanging on the night air.

And then Rokurou barreled into him, snapping his jaws at his throat, utterly crazed.

Eizen punched blindly, feeling the hits connect but with no idea where, just trying to bring his other arm up to protect his neck and not die at the teeth of his friend. He could feel sharp, stabbing pains in his thigh; he suspected it was one of Rokurou’s daggers, but he had no real idea. The only thing going through his mind was _get him off; stop him._

He grabbed at the daemon: his glove had come off somehow and he could feel skin under his fingers; he dragged his nails through flesh as deeply as he could. Still no effect; Rokurou’s face flashed into his vision again, and Eizen managed to get a hand around his throat, squeezing as tightly as he dared.

His artes were the only thing that could save him. Summoning more mana from the ground, he managed to sling the yaksha away - Rokurou hit the ground, and bounced up as if he were made of rubber, despite the bleeding wounds and contusions which covered him.

Eizen had enough mana left for a single arte. He let it flow out of him, down through his legs and into the soil… and blew up the ground beneath Rokurou’s feet, even as the yaksha clawed at him. He was blasted into the air almost in slow motion, falling down with trailing arms and hitting the ground with a cry, landing on his back hard enough to knock all the air out of him. 

Eizen knew he had to be quick, despite the pain in his leg.

Before he could question the sanity of what he was doing, he was on top of Rokurou, straddling him and pinning his body down, clamping a wrist to the ground in each fist. The yaksha’s stunned state lasted only seconds: almost immediately, he was howling in Eizen’s face again, his daemon eye aflame and exposed, still trying to sink his teeth into Eizen’s unprotected throat. His body bucked relentlessly, trying to break himself free, and Eizen struggled to even hold on.

“Rokurou!” Eizen’s mana was completely used up; his life now depended on whether he had the physical strength to hold an enraged yaksha down, and the brains to snap him out of it. “Stop it! I don’t want to have to hurt you!”

There was absolutely no chance that he’d be able to inflict any kind of pain on the daemon, but he didn’t need to know that. Not that it made any difference anyway, Rokurou yelled his hate directly into Eizen’s face, wordless and feral in his rage.

All Eizen could do was wait it out, and hope Rokurou recovered his reason sooner rather than later. They were both injured and bleeding - his best bet seemed to be the hope that either time or pain snapped him out of it. 

“Stop; calm down.” Eizen lowered his voice, hoping that a calmer tone might have some effect. Plus, if anyone in Yseult were to hear them and attempt to come to his rescue, it would undoubtedly end badly, one way or another. He tried to make eye contact with Rokurou, despite one of his eyes still flaming red, and took a breath to try to settle his own body. “Can you hear me okay?”

_“Fuck you! Fucker!”_ Rokurou spat the words out, malevolence coming off him in torrents, but Eizen was just glad to hear him using words again. The fear that he’d pushed Rokurou too far had been real; that seemed a step in the right direction, even if it had been an epithet aimed directly at him. He was still writhing and bucking underneath him, but it seemed slightly less, Eizen made sure his grip was firm, and spoke again.

“You’re okay. Or you’ll be okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Rokurou simmered and seethed beneath him, but the brightness of his daemon eye was definitely fading in intensity. Eizen focused on his amber eye, noticed the bruises around it that had been inflicted by his own fists. Rokurou was still doggedly trying to avoid his gaze, but he had to persist.

“Breathe, Rokurou. You’ll be okay; I’ll look after you and get you through it.” He used the same, gentle tones he’d used to speak to Edna, back when they’d lived together and she’d been scared. For the first time, Rokurou’s eye made contact with his. “I’m here with you.”

And as suddenly as it had begun, Rokurou’s daemonic eye faded back to its dormant state, his rage disappearing in an instant. Eizen looked down at the face of his friend, dazed, obviously hurt and breathing hard, but restored to his sanity.

“Are you okay?” the malak asked, concerned. Rokurou’s gaze seemed to travel down, then back up to meet Eizen’s.

“Uh… this is kinda hot.”

And as they stared into each other's eyes, both taking in rapid breaths, Eizen realised exactly what he was doing. He was leaning down on Rokurou’s chest, their faces inches away, feeling their exhalations mingle. His hands were almost clasped in the daemon’s, pinning him to the ground, unresisting. And his groin was sitting on top of Rokurou’s, pressed together, feeling twitches and sensations that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Twitches that seemingly came from both of them.

And it felt so completely, utterly right.

The adrenaline was still coursing through both of them. On a more primal level, all he wanted to do right now was flip Rokurou over, slam him against the sand, and fuck him until he was panting Eizen’s name. But his feelings went deeper than that, and for a moment, the image of a dandelion seed floated through his mind.

Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he released one of Rokurou’s wrists, and brought his hand to the daemon’s face. He wanted to touch the daemonblight, but part of him still didn’t dare to; instead, he gently laid his hand on the side of Rokurou’s face, tenderly running his thumb across his cheek. Rokurou’s amber eye was dilated, still staring up breathlessly, as Eizen hesitated, his thumb smeared with dark blood.

And he watched as Rokurou closed his eyes, and ran a quivering tongue up the entire length of his thumb, massaging it, gently closing his mouth around the tip with the barest hint of suckling.

It was suddenly too much for Eizen; too real. 

He snatched his hand away, a little too fast, pushing backward and rolling off to the side in his haste to get off Rokurou’s prone form, and to avoid confronting what had been right before his eyes.

_This is not a good idea; this is really not a good idea, shit._

He got to his feet and turned his back, not wanting to face the sprawled daemon. Especially as he was all too aware of what was going on in his pants.

“We should get back to the inn.” He tried to set his voice at its gruffest; it sounded annoyingly shrill. He busied himself with casting a healing arte on his perforated thigh, having regenerated some of his mana. _Please don’t say anything._

“Um… okay?” He could hear the sound of Rokurou sitting up, dragging himself into a stand with an audible wince. He’d need to heal his wounds, too. Velvet would kill them both if she knew what they’d been up to.

“Good.” Eizen turned around, feeling ready to do so, internally grimacing as he saw the bewildered, slightly stunned look on Rokurou’s bloodied face. “Tell me what hurts the most; I’ve only got enough mana for running repairs. The rest will have to wait until we get back.”

“Well, my nose?” Rokurou quickly pressed his injured proboscis into the correct position as a healing green light descended on it; Eizen had barely waited. 

“Fixed. You can wash your face in the sea over there.”

“Okay.” Rokurou didn’t move, except to rub his hand at the back of his neck. “Soooo. Um... should we talk about- ”

“No.” Eizen shut his eyes at his own tone, opened them again. “We will… just not right now.”

Rokurou nodded, obviously uncertain, but appearing to be surprisingly content. “Cool. We can do that. Just, like, tell me when you want to talk.”

“I will.” Eizen looked at him, at his face, which was still so beautiful despite the blood and bruises that marred it. “Come on. Let’s get washed up.”

And they headed down to the moonlit shoreline together.

***

A short time later, they let themselves into their room at the inn, tiptoeing so not to wake their companions. They’d walked back in a companionable silence, and Eizen felt grateful to Rokurou for not pushing a conversation tonight. His feelings might’ve been confirmed, and maybe there had even been an unexpected response in return, but he needed time to think. This was no simple situation, not when a malak and a daemon were the main participants.

Rokurou unlocked the door with unsurprising deftness, and pushed the door open. Another perfectly serviceable room; two beds, a window, and an ensuite bathroom. There was a faint scent of jasmine coming from a vase of flowers on a dresser.

“Cool.” Rokurou whispered as he sat on the nearest bed, leaving the one by the window for Eizen. “I’ll keep the door open for you, so you can see what you’re doing.”

“Not a problem.” Eizen took his flint from his pocket, striking it with sore fingers and lighting a wax candle on the dresser. He shrugged his long coat off, throwing it on to the other bed. “Do you want me to heal you up?”

“Nah, I’m okay to wait until the morning. I’d rather just sleep, then you can heal up all the aches I’m going to have.” Rokurou unclipped his greatsword tiredly, placing it against the wall, depositing bloodied daggers on the bedside cabinet. “I’m just pissed that I lost.”

Eizen smiled faintly. “Rematch sometime, maybe.”

“Sure. Anytime.” The daemon paused. “I’m going to hit the sack; I’m beat.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be doing the same in a minute.”

Rokurou nodded, put one hand to the shoulder of his bloodied kimono as if to slide it off - and hesitated, looking at Eizen. The malak suddenly realised that he was just standing and staring; he turned, feeling awkward. It was already affecting their friendship. Though he could’ve sworn that he’d heard a small sigh behind him.

Listening to the sounds of Rokurou getting undressed, slowed by his bruises, Eizen carefully carried the candle over to the window and set it down on the sill, before staring intently at the glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Malevolence causes problems, Eizen drifts deeper into denial, Rokurou wants answers, and the rating goes up!

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this is the very first time I've written a ship fic of any kind, so I hope that I've done both Berseria and the genre proud!
> 
> Secondly, thank you SO MUCH to my lovely friends who have encouraged me and helped me with this (especially you, Schmaity!). You are a constant source of inspiration, assistance, and laughs!
> 
> Thirdly, this is going to be one long story, so settle yourself in! Oh, and it may well get smutty at some point, because these boys.


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